


The Bells That Still Can Ring

by sahiya



Series: The Bells That Still Can Ring [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-OT4, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's Christmas plans are spoiled when Neal and Peter end up injured on a case. But Elizabeth thinks she knows how they could still have a very merry holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for love_82's [prompt](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/165037.html?thread=1277101#t1277101) over at Whitecollarhc's [Hurt/Comfort Advent](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/187312.html). Many thanks to Fuzzyboo and Embroiderama for the beta! And thank you as well to Kanarek13 for the gorgeous piece of art at the end.
> 
> The title, and a brief paraphrased quotation in the second chapter, are both taken from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem."

The emergency room was a lousy place to be three days before Christmas. All things considered, though, Peter decided he’d take it. As lousy as it was, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Which, come to think of it, was the only good thing that could be said about this day.

Even so, Peter didn’t look forward to explaining himself to Elizabeth. He knew it would be worse the longer he put it off, and yet an hour went by and he didn’t pick up his cell. _Better to wait until Neal comes back from his CT scan_ , he told himself, knowing it was mostly a lie. Even if they didn’t have news yet on Neal’s head injury, she’d have wanted to know about Peter’s own set of cracked ribs.

Not that there was anything anyone could do about them. Peter accepted with resignation the prescription for painkillers that his doctor handed him and settled back on the propped-up hospital gurney. It was going to be a very uncomfortable next few weeks, and he didn’t look forward to the drive up to his parents’ house that he and Elizabeth were supposed to make tomorrow. 

But at least his Christmas plans weren’t as thoroughly spoiled as Neal’s probably were. 

Peter had just managed to doze off when the commotion of an orderly bringing Neal back woke him. “Hey,” Peter said, wincing as he reached over to press a hand to Neal’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Not so good,” Neal said, words slurred. “Nauseated. Dizzy. But not bleeding in my brain, so that’s good.”

“Yeah, that’s very good,” Peter said. He’d feared the worst, when he’d seen Bernelli’s goon bring that crowbar down onto Neal’s head. 

“What about -” Neal paused to swallow, and Peter noticed for the first time that he was clutching a pink, kidney-shaped basin “- you?” he finally managed to finish. 

“Two standard issue cracked ribs,” Peter said, grimacing. 

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. But I’ll live.” They _both_ would, and there had been a moment earlier that day when Peter hadn’t been a hundred percent sure about that. 

“Good,” Neal mumbled, then seemed to fall asleep. 

With no excuses left, Peter was forced to finally pull out his phone and call Elizabeth. He hated making this sort of call; it wasn’t that he was afraid she’d fall apart on him - his wife was definitely _not_ the type who was prone to hysterics - but rather the opposite: she took it worse than she ever let on. 

“Hi hon,” she answered, sounding harried. This was her last day of work until after New Year’s, and Peter knew that she’d had a long list of things to accomplish before she could leave the office. “What’s up?”

“Hi hon,” he said, and paused. Probably it was best to just be direct about it. “So, I don’t want you to worry, but Neal and I are both a bit . . . in the emergency room. Nothing too serious,” he added hastily. “I have a couple cracked ribs, and Neal’s got a concussion.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Peter closed his eyes, imagining his wife in her office, breathing deeply so that he wouldn’t know how upset she actually was. “How did it - no, never mind. Where are you?” 

“We’re in Queens,” he said. “Don’t worry about coming out here - I left Jones to secure the scene, but he should be done soon. He said he’d pick us up on his way back into the city. We got the bad guys,” he added, just in case that helped. It made _him _feel better, anyway.__

__“Good for you,” Elizabeth said, not very sincerely. “Text me the name of the hospital, I’m on my way.”_ _

__“You don’t -”_ _

__“I’m on. _My way._ ”_ _

__Peter knew not to argue with her when she took that particular tone. “Okay. See you soon.” He disconnected, then sent her the name of the hospital via text. Then he sat very quietly for a moment, feeling like a terrible, terrible husband._ _

__“How mad is she?” Neal asked._ _

__Peter glanced over at him. Neal hadn’t opened his eyes. “Pretty mad,” he said._ _

__Neal sighed. “Probably not as mad as Sara’s going to be.”_ _

__Peter grimaced. “Did you ask the doctor about flying?”_ _

__“Yeah. He said if it were just a short hop, he’d okay it, but a trans-Atlantic flight to Paris isn’t a good idea. He didn’t think it’d make me stroke out or anything, but he thought I’d probably be in pain the whole way. And . . .” Neal sighed. “As much as I want a Parisian Christmas with Sara like we planned, the idea of dealing with an airport right now makes me want to curl up and die.”_ _

__“I bet,” Peter said. He reached over again, ignoring the pain in his ribs to let his hand rest on Neal’s shoulder. He wished he could do more, but it wasn’t a good idea in public. He knew how much Neal had been looking forward to his trip. He’d first broached the idea to Peter in August, and though Peter hadn’t loved the idea for any number of reasons, he’d told Neal to go for it. He and El had decided to spend the holidays with Peter’s own parents, who knew Neal as Peter’s former CI, now friend. As much as Peter didn’t want to spend Christmas away from Neal, he also didn’t particularly relish trying to explain to his parents why the three of them only needed one bedroom - or else asking Neal to sneak into his and El’s in the middle of the night like they had something to be ashamed of._ _

__“It’s okay,” Neal said after a moment, though Peter could tell it was anything but. “June’s got a house full of family, and Moz always makes himself scarce this time of year, but I’ll be fine. I’ll stay at the house and look after Satchmo while you guys are gone. That way you won’t have to board him.”_ _

___On your own? With a concussion? At_ Christmas _?_ Peter didn’t say anything, but he knew there was no way he and Elizabeth would ever let that happen. Whether Neal ended up coming with them or all three of them ended up staying in Brooklyn, they weren’t going to leave Neal on his own in an empty house for the holidays. _ _

__Neal didn’t seem inclined to talk after that, and Peter let him be. He called Jones to check in - not that it was necessary - and let him know they wouldn’t need a ride after all. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, just to rest them. Normally he could never sleep in places like the emergency room, but he was slightly stoned from the Vicodin they’d given him. The next thing he knew, Elizabeth was there, bending down to kiss Neal hello._ _

__“Don’t I get one of those?” Peter asked, plaintively._ _

__El gave him a look. “I thought you were asleep,” she said, coming around to kiss him hello. Then she stepped back and surveyed them. “You look like hell,” she pronounced. “Both of you. What happened?”_ _

__“It’s a long story,” Peter said, before Neal could say anything about the crowbar. Some things, Elizabeth just didn’t need to know. “I fell down some stairs,” he said, conveniently failing to mention that he’d been shoved. “Neal got hit on the head. We’re both okay.”_ _

__“For a given definition of ‘okay’ that means what, exactly?” Elizabeth replied. She sat in the bedside chair and shook her head. “You two,” she said, but Peter knew she wasn’t actually angry - just upset and retroactively frightened at how things could have gone. He couldn’t say he was feeling much different, especially about Neal. The memory of seeing that crowbar come down on the back of Neal’s head was going to be the stuff of his nightmares for weeks._ _

__After that it was mostly just paperwork and waiting for prescriptions. Peter already had his Vicodin, but Neal had to wait for his, as well as a prescription for Compazine for his nausea. By the time they managed to get the script and El returned from the hospital pharmacy with the bag of pills, Neal was looking more and more wan. He nodded wordlessly when the nurse asked if he’d prefer a wheelchair out to the car._ _

__Neal curled up in the backseat with a blanket from the trunk over him. Peter climbed slowly and painfully into the front seat, then laid it back a few inches with a sigh of relief._ _

__He waited until they were on the expressway and he was fairly certain Neal was asleep. Then he said to El, “We need to talk. About Christmas.”_ _

__El glanced in the rearview mirror - at Neal, Peter guessed. “Is he going to be able to fly like that?”_ _

__“No,” Peter said. “Well, he probably could if he had to, but the doctor recommended against it. He said he’d stay at the house and take care of Satch while you and I were gone.”_ _

__El shook her head. “Sometimes it’s like he doesn’t know us at all.”_ _

__Peter grimaced. “I know. The question is -”_ _

__“Do we stay here or take him with us,” El finished. She glanced sideways at him briefly. “How do you feel about a five hour car ride with your ribs?”_ _

__“Not great,” Peter said. “I could do it, but it’d be unpleasant. And then four days at my parents’ house, trying to pretend that we aren’t _us_. Not to mention, my mom would make a big fuss and try to wrap me in wool.”_ _

__“Which you would pretend to hate and secretly love,” El pointed out._ _

__Peter smiled. “I neither confirm nor deny.” He sighed. “I don’t know. It might be too much, especially for Neal.” His brother and his wife had four kids, all between the ages of ten and eighteen, and they’d be there, too. Normally Peter loved seeing his nephews and niece, but Neal’s concussion was severe enough that he’d probably still be headachey and nauseated by then. The noise and the commotion and the new faces weren’t going to do him one bit of good._ _

__There really wasn’t much of a decision to make. “I’ll see about taking some time in January or February,” Peter said. “I can go up and see them then. Or maybe see if they’d like to come down for a week in the city at some point.”_ _

__El reached over and laid her hand on Peter’s knee. “They’ll understand, hon.”_ _

__“I know they will,” Peter said. He looked out the window at the passing streets. He had been looking forward to a country Christmas with his family; it’d been several years since he’d had one of those. But on the other hand, he’d wanted a Christmas with just El and Neal, too, one where they didn’t have to edit their stories (well, he didn’t; Neal might) or pretend to be something they weren’t. That sounded pretty good, too._ _

__***_ _

__If there was one thing El wished she could change about their current house, it was that there was no driveway. It took her forever to find street parking - so long, in fact, that she ended up double parking to drop Peter and Neal off in front of the house. Both her boys were moving slowly as they climbed out, Peter stifling a grunt as his ribs protested the change in position. Neal, in the back, was very quiet - a bad sign where he was concerned. She saw them up the stairs and in the front door, then circled the block again._ _

__It took her almost fifteen minutes to find parking a few blocks away and then walk back to the house. She let herself in to find that Peter had already settled himself in the recliner and was poking desultorily at the remote._ _

__“Where’s Neal?” she asked, hanging up her coat._ _

__“Calling Sara,” he said, giving her a significant look._ _

__El sighed. “That’s such a shame. I know he was looking forward to it.”_ _

__“Hmm,” was Peter’s only reply as he turned back to the TV._ _

__El looked at him. He kept his eyes on the TV - studiously so, she thought. “You, on the other hand,” she said, and then didn’t go on._ _

__Peter did look at her then. “Me on the other hand what?”_ _

__“You’re not disappointed that Neal isn’t going to Paris.” El made sure to keep her voice down, and she went to sit by Peter, pulling a chair around so that they were fairly close together. “You didn’t want him to go in the first place.”_ _

__“That isn’t true,” Peter said, frowning at her. “I never said a word against the idea.”_ _

__“No, you didn’t,” El said. “But I’ve been married to you for fifteen years, and I know you better than that. You weren’t thrilled about Neal going to Paris to see Sara.”_ _

__Peter abruptly muted the TV. “Would it be so wrong if I wasn’t?” he asked, keeping his voice down._ _

__“Hon, you know it isn’t fair -”_ _

__“I know,” he snapped, and then stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I do know. And if Neal found someone here in New York, I think I’d be okay - well, _more_ okay with it. But Sara lives in London, and as far as I know she isn’t thinking about moving back anytime soon.” Peter looked away. “I just . . . I don’t want to have to hop a flight across an ocean to see him,” he said in a subdued tone. “And it’d be so much easier for him to just be with her. There’s so much you and I can’t give him. Even going to my parents’ for Christmas is complicated.”_ _

__Elizabeth sighed and reached out to rub Peter’s knee. “I know, hon. But Neal’s bound to be disappointed by having to cancel, so please try not to take that personally. He was looking forward to being with her in one of his favorite cities, but that doesn’t have anything to do with how much he wants to be here, with us.”_ _

__“I guess,” Peter said, sounding unconvinced. “I just - I wish we were enough. I wish we could be.”_ _

__“I know,” El said. “But do you think . . .” She shrugged. “You’ve been afraid of Neal leaving for a long time now - off and on for five years. Do you think maybe it’s time to try and break the habit?”_ _

__Peter smiled at her ruefully. “Some habits are hard to break.”_ _

__Slow, slightly uneven footsteps on the stairs put an end to the conversation, at least for right then. “How’d she take it?” Elizabeth asked, standing just in case Neal needed help getting over to the sofa._ _

__“She took it,” he said, shuffling over steadily enough. He sat down, and Elizabeth sat beside him, one leg folded beneath her. Neal sighed heavily. “She wasn’t even mad, she was just . . . disappointed.”_ _

__“I guess that makes two of you,” Elizabeth said, pushing a strand of hair behind Neal’s ear._ _

__He nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll be okay. I’ll have Satch for company,” he said with a fond, if slightly shaky, smile at Satchmo, who lifted his head at the sound of his name._ _

__El glanced at Peter. He nodded. “About that,” Elizabeth said. “Neal, you didn’t seriously think we’d leave you on your own, did you?”_ _

__He visibly winced. “I’m just not up for a big family Christmas. It’s a nice thought, but -”_ _

__“We know, sweetie,” Elizabeth interrupted, gently. “That’s why we’re staying here.”_ _

__Neal blinked. “You are? But Peter’s family -”_ _

__“- will understand,” Peter said. “We’re not going to leave you here to spend Christmas concussed and with only Satchmo for company. We’re going to stay,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, “and we’re going to have a great Christmas, just the three of us.”_ _

__“Oh,” Neal said, looking from El to Peter and back again. “Really? Are you sure?”_ _

__“We’re sure,” El said, reaching out to stroke her thumb over his cheek. “Now,” she added briskly, with a glance around the living room, “I think this place could use some Christmas cheer.” They hadn’t done much of anything to decorate, since none of them had intended to be here on Christmas. All the boxes of decorations had stayed in the attic this year, and - _oh good lord_ \- there was almost nothing in the kitchen. The grocery stores would be nightmarish tomorrow and totally picked over the day after. _ _

__But in the end, none of that mattered. They could eat canned soup, El thought, and the three of them would be happy because they were together. Not that they would eat canned soup; if worse came to worst, El had at least three caterers on speed dial who owed her major favors and undoubtedly had trays of leftover canapés in their walk-ins._ _

__“What are you thinking?” Peter asked._ _

__“I’m thinking it’s a bit late to get a real tree,” Elizabeth said slowly, “but do we still have the artificial one from the year my parents came?” Her mother was allergic to pine._ _

__“I think it’s in the attic along with all the other decorations,” Peter said. “Uh, do you want me to -”_ _

__“Oh no,” she said, standing and glaring. “Don’t even think about it. I’m perfectly capable of hauling it out of the attic myself. We’ll have a tree, maybe put up some garland on the mantle, I’ll break out the Nutcrackers, and in a couple hours it’ll actually feel like Christmas in here.”_ _

__Peter looked a little dubious, but Neal seemed cheered by the idea. El got them both their beverages of choice - orange juice for Peter and hot tea with lemon for Neal - and then headed upstairs to start hauling things out of the attic._ _

__It was hard and surprisingly sweaty work. She and Peter were always a team when it came to decorating the house for Christmas: She was in charge of all aesthetic decisions and he was in charge of anything heavy or more than six feet off the ground. She had no idea until she was in the process of trying to get it down the ladder from the attic exactly how big and cumbersome the artificial tree was, and there looked like there were cartons and cartons of decorations. Well, she thought, she didn’t have to put up everything. She’d start with the tree and go from there._ _

__She was sorting through boxes, trying to find her grandmother’s paper maché ornaments, when her cell phone went off. She pulled it out and glanced at it, wondering if Peter and Neal needed something. But the phone number wasn’t one her cell phone knew. In fact, it wasn’t a U.S. number at all._ _

__“Hello?” she said, bracing the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she repacked a carton, having struck out again on the ornaments._ _

__“Hi, Elizabeth. It’s Sara.”_ _

__Elizabeth almost dropped the phone. “Sara, hi! This is a surprise. How are you?”_ _

__“I’m well, thanks. How are you?”_ _

__“All right,” she said. “Sort of in the middle of trying to throw together a last minute Christmas, now that none of us are going anywhere. I had no idea how many boxes of Christmas decorations we even had.” She reached for the next box and tugged it open, then grinned to herself. _Jackpot_. _ _

__“You’re staying then,” Sara said. “Neal thought that you and Peter would be going out of town.”_ _

__El rolled her eyes. “Yes, and I’m trying not to be insulted by that. No, we’re staying.”_ _

__“I see.” Sara went quiet._ _

__“Sara?” El asked after a moment, wondering if the connection had cut out._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Sara said. “It’s just . . . well, I was calling to run an idea past you.”_ _

__“Oh?” El said. She sat back against one of the support beams and dragged a hand across her forehead. The attic was sweltering._ _

__“I was thinking about flying to New York to surprise Neal, since he can’t come here.”_ _

__“Oh,” El said, raising her eyebrows. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that._ _

__“But that was before I knew you and Peter would be staying,” Sara added hastily. “He doesn’t need me if he has the two of you.”_ _

__“Maybe not,” El said, slowly, “but I think he’d love it all the same.” She paused, thinking. Peter probably wouldn’t be thrilled, but maybe this was exactly what they needed. If Neal started something with Sara that was completely disconnected to his relationship with her and Peter - even _geographically_ disconnected - then Peter would always be afraid that _this_ time, when Neal left to visit her, he wouldn’t come back. But maybe it didn’t have to be that way. Maybe if Sara came here, Peter would see that Neal didn’t have to choose. _ _

__“I think you should come,” she said, decisively. “I think Neal would love it. And Peter and I would love to see you, too.”_ _

__“Oh,” Sara said, sounding faintly surprised. “Are you sure?”_ _

__“I’m sure,” Elizabeth said. She probably should check with Peter, she thought, somewhat guiltily, but this was the sort of thing where asking forgiveness might be easier than asking permission. Besides, Peter liked Sara. He always had._ _

__“Okay, then,” Sara said, and let out a breath. “I guess I have a lot to do - flight, hotel -”_ _

__“No hotel necessary,” El said. “That’s silly. Stay with us. There’s plenty of room at this inn.”_ _

__She could feel Sara hesitating on the other end of the line. “Won’t that be a bit - awkward?”_ _

__“Only if we allow it to be,” Elizabeth said. Sara emanated skepticism down the line, and El smiled. “If you’d rather try to get a hotel room, I won’t stop you. But I wish you’d consider staying here, at least through Christmas. If Neal’s feeling better after the holiday, maybe you guys can get away for a few days, just the two of you.”_ _

__“That sounds nice,” Sara said. “And I don’t know what the odds are of me finding a room over Christmas, anyway. I just don’t know . . . what about Peter?”_ _

__“What about him?”_ _

__“Is he going to be okay with all of this?”_ _

__El frowned. “Has he given you a reason to think he won’t be?”_ _

__“Call it a hunch.”_ _

__El considered lying, or at least omitting, then decided that wouldn’t get them anywhere good. “Peter has mixed feelings about you and Neal,” she admitted. “He’s very afraid that Neal will leave us for you.”_ _

__“Oh God, no, Elizabeth -”_ _

__“Which is all the more reason,” Elizabeth said firmly, “that I think you should come. You’re not a stranger, Sara, you’re our friend. Peter _likes_ you. _I_ like you. I think this will work better if we’re all playing for the same team, if you see what I mean.”_ _

__“I’m not sure I do,” Sara said, a touch of amusement in her voice. “But I think I’m willing to find out. I’ll text you my flight details, but don’t worry about picking me up - I can get a cab from the airport. And, um, don’t tell Neal?”_ _

__“My lips are sealed,” Elizabeth said with a smile._ _

__***_ _

__Concussions sucked. By Neal’s count, this was his third, but neither of the others had been quite this bad. He’d had the occasional headache, but no dizziness, no nausea, and no disorientation. Worst of all, though, was that he couldn’t _do_ anything - couldn’t read or use the computer or watch TV. Even just having to focus on his phone for a couple minutes in order to call Sara had made his headache worse. _ _

__Just about the only thing he could do was lie on the sofa with his eyes closed, listening to Elizabeth wrestle the Christmas tree upright and into its stand. “There we go,” she said with a smile. “It already looks better in here.”_ _

__Neal forced a smile for El’s sake, at least until she went back upstairs to get a couple boxes of ornaments. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful; he was glad, _really_ glad, that they were staying. But he was also deeply disappointed. He hadn’t seen Sara in over two years, though they’d emailed often and spoken a few times over the phone. He’d been looking forward to seeing her in person and finding out if the old spark was still there. He’d had the feeling it would be. _ _

__“I don’t play second fiddle in anyone else’s orchestra,” Sara had told him firmly, when he first broached the idea of seeing each other at Christmas._ _

__“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Neal replied. “I want to see you. But it can be as serious - or as not serious - as we want it to be.”_ _

__Sara was quiet for a moment. “The thing is, Neal,” she said at last, “I think I would want it to be serious. But you’re already with Peter and Elizabeth. Is there really room in your life for someone else?”_ _

__“There is if that someone is you,” Neal had said, and meant it._ _

__His favorite bed and breakfast in Paris was closed for the holiday, but Neal had managed to get a suite at the Marriot on the Champs-Élysées. He’d looked forward to wooing Sara in his favorite city in the world - a city he’d not seen in almost ten years. He’d had _plans_ , dammit, and they hadn’t involved getting hit over the head with a crowbar less than twenty-four hours before he was supposed to leave. _ _

__“There’ll be other chances,” Peter said, interrupting Neal’s thoughts._ _

__“I guess,” Neal said. He sat up, wincing as the change in elevation made his head pound. “Sorry, I know I’m being a wet blanket. I think I’m going to go lie down upstairs for a while.”_ _

__“Do you need help?” Peter asked._ _

__“No, I’m fine,” he said, and pushed himself off the couch. He trudged up the stairs, where he found Elizabeth just coming down from the attic with two boxes of ornaments in her arms._ _

__“Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?”_ _

__“Not so great,” Neal said. “I’m just going to lie down for a while.”_ _

__She nodded, then stopped him with a hand on his wrist. She cupped his jaw in her hand, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Love you,” she said._ _

__“Love you, too,” he said, and smiled without having to force it._ _

__Neal didn’t think he’d actually sleep - he’d mostly just wanted some space to sulk without hurting anyone’s feelings - but he was exhausted and still in a lot of pain. He fell asleep only a couple minutes after crawling beneath the comforter, and when he woke, more than two hours had passed. He felt better, he realized with some surprise - not only physically, but mentally, and he recalled the doctor at the ER telling him that his emotions were likely to be all over the place for a few days. He was still disappointed, but he no longer felt quite so miserable about it. For the first time since he’d realized he wasn’t going to make it to Paris, he thought he might be able to enjoy having Christmas here._ _

__It had grown dark out while he slept. Neal was already wearing a sweater and too-loose khakis, but he changed into pajamas, since it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. Then he padded down the hall to the stairs._ _

__It seemed that serious progress had been made in the living room while he’d slept. The tree was not only still upright, it was mostly decorated. Peter, still firmly ensconced in his recliner, was sorting through yet another carton of ornaments while El hung things he handed her. There was a fire in the hearth, too, and three stockings hung across the mantel. No, four stockings, Neal noticed, and wondered if the fourth one was for Satchmo._ _

__“Hey, you’re up,” Peter said, glancing up with a smile. “Feeling better?”_ _

__“I am,” Neal said. “I’m sorry I was such a Grinch before.”_ _

__El gave him a look. “You have a concussion, sweetie, and even if you didn't, you’re allowed to be disappointed.”_ _

__“Maybe,” Neal said. “But I’m done being disappointed. No more disappointment. It’s Christmas, and I’m here with the two of you.” He swallowed, hesitating momentarily. He didn’t have to say it, he thought. They’d know even if he didn’t. But he _should_ say it, because they loved him and they’d given up something to be with him. “It means a lot to me that you stayed.”_ _

__El smiled and set the ornament she was hanging down to come over and kiss him. “As if there was ever any question,” she said._ _

__“Damn right,” Peter said, levering himself out of his chair before Neal could stop him. “My turn.”_ _

__“Peter,” Neal said, frowning at him for getting up, but Peter stopped the frown by kissing him. Neal tried to keep it up, but he just couldn’t. Not when Peter was determined to wear him down. Especially like _this_. _ _

__Despite his continuing headache, fatigue, and occasional twinge of nausea, the rest of the evening was rather wonderful. After she ran out of steam with her decorating, El joined Neal in the nest of blankets and pillows he’d made on the floor by Peter’s recliner. Satchmo flopped down across their laps, and the three of them spent a cozy few hours drinking hot cocoa and watching black and white Christmas movies on A &E. At least, Peter and Elizabeth watched them; Neal lay with his eyes closed and his head on Elizabeth’s lap, listening to the familiar dialogue and enjoying the sensation of her fingers in his hair. _ _

__It was not the Christmas that he’d intended to have, Neal thought as he went to sleep that night, but it would be one of his better ones all the same._ _

__Everyone seemed to feel better after a good night’s sleep, even if Peter woke up very stiff and sore. They had a leisurely and festive breakfast of pumpkin and cranberry pancakes, and then Elizabeth started making noises about a shopping list. Neal sat at the kitchen island and watched her poke around in the fridge and various cupboards, consulting recipes on the internet and muttering to herself. Normally he’d have helped; he loved to cook, and he was actually much better at it than she was. But he just couldn’t seem to find the energy. The idea of standing over a stove all day was exhausting._ _

__“I think that’s everything,” El said at last. She glanced at her watch. “Will you be all right on your own for a bit?” she asked Neal._ _

__“I suppose so,” Neal said, frowning. “But you’re not taking Peter with you, are you?”_ _

__She shrugged. “He said he wanted to go.”_ _

__Neal couldn’t remember Peter saying any such thing. “Grocery shopping?” Neal said incredulously. “With cracked ribs?”_ _

__“He said he wanted to get out of the house for a bit. We won’t be gone long. Hon?” she called up the stairs._ _

__“Coming,” Peter said, and Neal heard him on the stairs, slow and careful._ _

__“You’re crazy,” Neal told him when Peter finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. He was dressed, albeit sort of haphazardly._ _

__“No kidding,” Peter said, with a weirdly significant glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “I’m fine. Just try not to burn the house down, all right?”_ _

__Neal rolled his eyes. Up close, he thought that Peter didn’t look _at all_ happy about this excursion, but he supposed there were any number of reasons he might be going with Elizabeth. ‘Twas the season for keeping secrets after all. His own gifts for them were upstairs, carefully packed away, along with his gift for Sara. He wondered what he should do with that now. He could send it, he supposed, even if there was no hope of it getting across the Atlantic in time for Christmas. Or he could save it for when he _did_ see her again. _ _

__The mellow morning had left him strangely tired. Since he wasn’t allowed to do anything, Neal decided to lie down on the sofa until Peter and Elizabeth returned. He stretched out under a chenille throw, leaving his outside arm dangling so that Satchmo could shove his head under it, and closed his eyes._ _

__The doorbell rang._ _

__Neal sighed and weighed the idea of not getting up to answer it. This time of year, odds were good that it was either carolers or someone looking for donations, and Neal didn’t have the mental energy to deal with either. Finally he sat up and knelt on the couch to carefully twitch back the living room curtain, just far enough to see who was on the front porch._ _

__It was Sara. She wore a dark blue peacoat and a red beret that suited her perfectly, and she had a gray rolling valise parked at her feet. And she was _here_. _ _

__Neal stood up so fast his head spun and he almost blacked out. He sat down until his head cleared, and then he stood again, more carefully this time. He looked down at himself: flannel pajama bottoms, an old college sweatshirt of Peter’s, and a bathrobe that had seen better days. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to look when she saw him again for the first time in two years, but he couldn’t very well just leave her out there._ _

__He opened the door. She looked up at him, phone in her hand._ _

__“Surprise, Neal,” she said, smiling. “Merry Christmas.”_ _

__***_ _

__Thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic was a useless place to start having cold feet, but that hadn’t stopped Sara. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something so impulsive, but it had probably been while she was dating Neal. Her plan hadn’t seemed quite so insane when she thought it was just Neal she was flying across an ocean to see, but knowing that that she was going to see Peter and Elizabeth as well made it much more nerve wracking._ _

__But Sara had never flinched from a challenge. If this was going to crash and burn, she’d decided around her third glass of mediocre airline wine, it wasn’t going to be because she’d wimped out._ _

__She was a ball of nerves in the cab and on the way up the front walk, and then no one answered the door. She waited for what felt like an eternity before pulling out her phone to text Elizabeth and find out what was going on. Elizabeth had assured her that Neal would be home by himself when she arrived. But maybe he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and not heard the doorbell, or maybe he’d decided to ignore it, not realizing it was her._ _

__Halfway through her text message to Elizabeth, the door opened. Sara looked up to see Neal in person for the first time in over two years and realized that nothing she’d been worried about mattered in the slightest._ _

__“Surprise, Neal,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”_ _

__“Sara,” he said, a little dazedly. “What are you doing here?”_ _

__She gave him a look. “Losing your touch, Caffrey?”_ _

__“Sorry, sorry,” he said, wincing. “I’m concussed, remember?” He stepped back, letting her through. “I’m glad to see you, I’m just . . . surprised.”_ _

__“Well, that was the point of Elizabeth not telling you I was coming,” Sara said. He took her coat from her and hung it up on the rack, and she set her hat down on top of her valise. “I wanted to surprise you. I hope that’s all right.”_ _

__“It’s better than all right,” Neal said, finally recovering some of his usual charm. He reached out and twined a piece of her hair around his finger. “I’m so glad to see you, Sara. You look amazing.”_ _

__“That’s better,” she said, with a smile. “I’m glad to see you, too, Neal.”_ _

__“Even if I don’t look amazing,” Neal said, with a self-conscious glance down at himself._ _

__“Oh, I don’t know,” Sara said, taking half a step forward. “At the risk of stroking your ego, I’d say you might be one of the very few men who could pull off the bathrobe and PJ’s ensemble.” Neal huffed a laugh. Sara took his hand in hers. “But you do look a little bit like you might fall over any second, so perhaps we should move this to the sofa.”_ _

__“Might be a good idea,” Neal said, ruefully. “Do you need anything? Coffee or a glass of water?”_ _

__“I could really use a glass of water,” Sara said, without adding that she was parched and headachey from drinking mostly wine and coffee on her flight. “But I can get it.”_ _

__Neal frowned. “I’m not _that_ injured,” he said. “I can get you a glass of water without collapsing. Go sit down. You must have left London at the crack of dawn to get here by now.”_ _

__She had, as a matter of fact, and it did feel good to sit somewhere other than an airplane. She stretched her legs out and patted the Burkes’ dog absently when he ambled over to investigate her. He looked a bit older around the muzzle than when last she’d seen him. It had been too long since she’d been back in New York, she thought. There just never seemed to be any time._ _

__“Thanks,” she said, when Neal returned with her glass of water._ _

__He sat down beside her, close enough to touch. “So Elizabeth knows,” he said. “Does Peter?”_ _

__“Not from me,” Sara said, “but he must. Elizabeth was the one who talked me into it, though - into coming in the first place and into staying here at the house. I hope that’s all right,” she added when Neal raised his eyebrows._ _

__“It is,” he said. “I just wonder if it won’t be awkward with . . . sleeping arrangements.”_ _

__She laid her hand over the back of his. “I thought a lot about that on the plane, actually. This is your home with Peter and Elizabeth. I don’t want to come in and disrupt it. After Christmas, if you’re feeling better, maybe we can go away for a few days, just the two of us. But when we’re here, I think you should sleep wherever it is you usually sleep.”_ _

__Neal’s eyes softened, looking at her. “How did you get so smart?”_ _

__She smiled. “I’ve done some reading since we last talked.”_ _

__“Oh?”_ _

__She shrugged. “I decided I had two options if we were going to do this. The first was that I could pretend you _weren’t_ with Elizabeth and Peter. That seemed easiest at first, until I realized that would mean I could never visit you here, and we could never have anything more than the occasional weekend fling. Our relationship would always be limited to what time we could steal away. And to be honest, I’ve never been very good at lying to myself.”_ _

__Neal nodded. “And the other option?”_ _

__She looked at him. “Do it right. Eyes wide open, knowing exactly what I’m getting into. And that meant learning more than I knew about how people do this sort of thing.”_ _

__“How’s it been?” Neal asked._ _

__Sara considered possible answers. _Terrifying_ came to mind immediately. _Intriguing_ , definitely. _Arousing_ , occasionally. A little shocking, too, and she hadn’t thought she could be shocked at this point in her life. _ _

__“Educational,” she said at last._ _

__Neal laughed. “I bet.” He smiled. “I’m glad you chose that option.”_ _

__“Me too, I think,” Sara said. She found herself settling a little closer to Neal, into the warmth of his body. He looked tired, she thought, and wondered if she should try to talk him into lying down. But before she could really think about it, he kissed her._ _

__It was a sweet kiss, slow but with plenty of spark. Sara felt her toes curl and her whole body flush. She found herself selfishly regretting her perfectly rational decision to tell Neal to sleep with Elizabeth and Peter as long as they were here at the house. Not that it would really matter. _Damn_ concussions, anyway. _ _

__Finally, Neal pulled away. “Still got it?” he murmured, lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear._ _

__Sara suppressed a shiver. “Oh yes.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

Peter opened his eyes as Elizabeth opened the driver’s side door, letting a blast of cold air into the warm car. “Mission accomplished?” he asked. 

“Mission accomplished,” she said, climbing in beside him. “Your valiant wife has procured enough groceries to keep us from starving for at least a few days. Thank you for being a good sport,” she added, and leaned over to kiss him. 

“I am a _very_ good sport,” Peter said. “I let you hustle me out of my nice warm house so I could sit in the car for an hour while you grocery shopped, all so that Neal could be alone with Sara when she got here.”

“Would you have really wanted to be there?” El asked as she backed out of her spot. 

“I guess not,” Peter conceded. “But I’d like to go on record and say that I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Well, I do,” Elizabeth said. “Neal wants to see Sara, at least sometimes. You need to get over thinking that means he wants to leave us.”

Peter sighed deeply, then immediately regretted it. He winced and held his breath, waiting for the pain to pass before speaking. “Not now, maybe. But someday he’ll realize that this thing with us is too hard, and then . . .”

Elizabeth reached over and cuffed him lightly upside the head. “Stop it. Stop borrowing trouble. Neal loves us, all right? He loves _you_. He’s been in love with you for a long time. He was in love with you the last time he was with Sara. That isn’t going to change now.”

Peter shook his head. “I wish I could have your faith.”

“Well, fortunately, under New York state law, what’s mine is yours, and I have enough for the both of us.”

Peter supposed that would have to do for now. El was usually right about these things, but all Peter could foresee was disaster. And maybe that had always been the case, and he’d simply been too blinded by love to see it. This sort of thing just didn’t work most of the time, Peter thought, not for men like him. But he’d wanted so badly to be with Neal that he’d ignored all his own misgivings. Now they were coming home to roost, and he couldn’t pretend they weren’t there anymore. 

They had better luck with parking today than they’d had yesterday. Elizabeth wouldn’t let him help carry anything inside, so Peter concentrated on not falling and hurting himself worse on the slick walkway up to the door. With El momentarily distracted getting the groceries out of the trunk, Peter took a moment to pause and brace himself for the sight of Neal and Sara canoodling on the sofa. 

He opened the front door to laughter and a blast of warm air. “We’re back,” Peter called.

Sara appeared from the living room, with Neal just behind her. “Look who showed up,” Neal said with a smile at Sara. “Though I take it this is less of a surprise for you than it was for me.”

“A bit less,” Peter said. “Hi Sara. It’s good to see you.” He was a little surprised to find that it mostly wasn’t a lie. He’d always liked Sara, even before she and Neal had gotten together - even after they had broken up. He’d have been happy to see her now, if only everything weren’t so complicated. 

How had this become his life, anyway? He’d liked his nice, safe, conventional life for years. But there was something about Neal Caffrey that just changed all the rules. 

“Hi Peter,” Sara said. “It’s good to see you, too.” She looked like she was trying to figure out whether to hug him, but then Elizabeth pushed through the door in a rustle of shopping bags. To Peter’s relief, Sara moved to help her. 

“Hey Sara,” Elizabeth said with a smile, as Sara took a few of the shopping bags from her. “Merry Christmas. Did you have a good flight?”

“I did,” Sara said. “Are there more bags in the car?”

“A few more. Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” Sara said, and went outside as Elizabeth took the bags into the kitchen. Peter wanted to help but he knew Elizabeth wouldn’t let him. Truthfully, his ribs were screaming at him to sit down.

“You okay?” Neal asked.

Peter grimaced. “I’m sore. I could probably use a Vicodin,” he added, reluctantly. 

Neal helped him settle himself in the recliner, then found his bottle of Vicodin where he’d left it that morning. “One or two?” he asked.

“Just one,” Peter said, and swallowed it with a sip of water. “How’re you doing?”

“Okay right now,” Neal said, sitting down on the sofa with a weary slump. “You know how concussions are, though. No idea what I’ll feel like in an hour.” He shot Peter a guilty look. “I hope you didn’t actually try and help El with the shopping.”

Peter shook his head. “Stayed in the car with the heat on.”

“Good,” Neal said, looking marginally less guilty. “Sorry for -”

“Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry about,” Peter said. “Good surprise?”

“ _Great_ surprise. Thank you.”

Peter shook his head. “It was mostly El and Sara.” 

Neal nodded. “But you’re okay with it?” he asked. 

Peter frowned. First El, now Neal. Was he really that transparent? “Of course,” he said easily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason, I guess,” Neal said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but Sara and El appeared then, a tray of hot chocolate in El’s hands and a platter of cookies in Sara’s. 

Peter had been braced for awkwardness, but to his surprise there wasn’t much - or at least, not that he noticed once the Vicodin kicked in. He was too out of it to contribute much to the conversation, and Neal was definitely quieter than usual, but El and Sara kept the conversation flowing. Sara had an interesting life in London, even if almost all of her stories seemed to revolve around Sterling-Bosch and insurance recovery. She and El traded some of their most entertaining work stories back and forth; Peter smiled when it seemed right and let the buzz of conversation wash over him the rest of the time. 

At some point, he fell asleep. When he woke again, the living room was dark and quiet. Dark had fallen, and someone - probably Elizabeth - had built a fire in the fireplace. The tree was plugged in, its tiny lights casting a surprising amount of light throughout the room. He smelled cinnamon from something baking in the oven and heard the quiet whisper of pages turning. 

The turning pages belonged to Sara, sitting in one corner of the sofa with her feet on the ottoman. She was reading, and Neal lay on his side with his head in her lap. Peter stayed quiet for a moment, watching the two of them through eyes that were barely cracked open. Sara’s free hand rested lightly on Neal’s head, her fingers moving slowly through his hair. As Peter watched, she paused and set her book aside; she took a sip of something from a mug beside her and looked down at Neal with an expression of pure fondness. 

Peter closed his eyes before he could see anymore. He knew that Sara had never intended even Neal to catch her looking at him like that. Neal hadn’t said anything, but Peter knew in his gut that Neal was serious about her as well; he would never have risked what he had with El and Peter otherwise. Neal and Sara might have been casual in the past, but if they got back together, Peter was certain they would be anything but this time. 

El insisted that Neal didn’t have to choose. Perhaps he just lacked his wife’s imagination, but Peter just couldn’t see any way for this arrangement to work for longer than a few months. If it lasted even that long. And when it inevitably ended, Peter didn’t think Neal could possibly end up choosing a relationship where he could never be fully acknowledged or equal over one where he could be. He and El were doing everything in their power to make it clear that _they_ considered him equal - up to and including his Christmas present, which was upstairs waiting to be wrapped - but his and Peter’s history made true recognition a pipe dream. 

He couldn’t just sit there forever with his eyes closed, Peter decided at last. He opened them, doing his best to blink as though he were only just waking up. “Hey,” he said, and he didn’t have to fake the slight sleep-roughness of his voice. He must have been out for at least a couple of hours.

“Good evening,” Sara said, marking her place in her book. “How are the ribs?”

“About the same,” Peter said. “They’re going to take forever to heal.”

“So I recall,” she said. Peter raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled ruefully. “Horseback riding accident when I was fifteen.”

Peter nodded. “Nothing to do but let them be,” he said. “Same with Neal’s concussion.”

Sara looked down at Neal. “I’m glad he didn’t try and fly to Paris,” she said. “He played it down on the phone, but he’s so tired, and Elizabeth said he’ll probably have some bad headaches before he’s really well again.”

“Probably,” Peter said. He hesitated. “It was the right decision, but he was very disappointed when he thought he might not get to see you.”

Sara smiled faintly, then looked up to catch Peter’s eye. “Peter, I want to make sure you know something. I know how close you and Neal are, and I know how much you,” she hesitated minutely, “how much you love him. I also know how many times you’ve almost lost him over the years.”

Three times, if he only counted the times that Neal had left or come very close. Probably closer to ten if he counted all the times one of them had nearly succeeded in driving the other one away. “What are you saying?” Peter asked. 

Sara looked him in the eye. “I’m not trying to take him away from you,” she said. “I promise you that, Peter. I would never try and take what the three of you have away from you.”

Peter didn’t immediately know what to say. Finally he said, “Thank you. But it might not be your decision to make.” He folded the footrest of the recliner down and stood up, slowly, laboriously, feeling at least twenty years older than he was. Sara stayed quiet, and to Peter’s relief did not try to get up and help him. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, and climbed the stairs to the bathroom. 

The hot water felt good on abused muscles, even if it also stung when it hit bruises. Peter stood under the water for a long time without moving, zoning out beneath the spray, before the bathroom door opened. The shower door was steamed nearly opaque, but he could tell from the size and shape of the blur that it was El who was undressing to get in with him. 

She didn’t say anything at first, just held him as the water sluiced across their bodies. Then she tilted her head back and kissed him. “Hon,” she murmured. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. “I know. I just . . . I don’t want to lose him.”

Elizabeth looked at him. With her hair damp and slicked back from her face, her blue eyes looked even bigger than usual. “Have you told him that?”

Peter looked away. “Maybe not in so many words. But he knows. Doesn’t he? He must.”

El smiled. “He probably does. But it couldn’t hurt to tell him, could it?”

“No,” Peter said. “I guess not. Er. Now?”

“No, not now,” she said. She reached across him for her pomegranate-scented shampoo and handed it to him with half a smile. “After you wash my hair.”

***

Elizabeth could only hope that what she’d said to Peter in the shower had gotten through, because there was no immediate opportunity for him to do anything about it. By the time she dressed and went back downstairs, Neal had woken with a vicious headache. Sara had taken care of giving him his Vicodin, but he was curled into a miserable ball at one end of the sofa. El thought he might be more comfortable upstairs, but she wasn’t sure that moving him would be worth it. She covered him with the throw and rubbed her knuckles up and down the back of his neck. 

Peter spurned the recliner for the sofa, pulling at Neal’s feet until he uncurled enough to lay them in Peter’s lap. Peter pressed his thumb into the ball of Neal’s foot, and Neal made a small, definitely not pained noise. Satisfied, Elizabeth went to see about dinner. Neal probably wouldn’t eat anything, but the rest of them needed to. 

It wasn’t much of a surprise that Satchmo followed her into the kitchen. It was more of a surprise that Sara followed right behind him. She leaned on the kitchen island, watching as El started pulling things out for their very simple dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she would spend a lot of the day in the kitchen, but for now she thought they could all use some nice, easy comfort food.

“Everything okay?” Elizabeth asked as she buttered slices of bread for the sandwiches. 

Sara glanced over her shoulder toward the living room. “I think this might’ve been a mistake,” she confessed in a low voice. “You guys don’t need me here - _Neal_ doesn’t need me here - and I know I’m making Peter uncomfortable.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Well, you might be right that Neal doesn’t _need_ you here, necessarily, but he certainly wants you here. And as for Peter . . .” Elizabeth laid her knife down and turned to look at Sara. “Peter’s fears aren’t really about you. I love my husband, but he’s old fashioned in a lot of ways. He loves Neal and he loves me, and we’ve made this work. But at the end of the day, what he wants for Neal probably looks a lot like what he and I have - a marriage. And he can’t imagine a scenario in which Neal doesn’t eventually decide he wants that, too, and leaves.”

Sara looked taken aback. “Oh,” she said, quietly. “And you’re not afraid of that?”

Elizabeth gave the question the consideration it deserved. “Not really,” she said at last. “But I’m more experienced than Peter is in certain areas.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Sara said. 

El decided that this conversation needed some social lubrication. She got two wine glasses down and broke open the bottle of sauvignon blanc she’d intended for dinner the night before. She poured them both glasses and pushed Sara’s across the counter to her. “Have you ever been in a relationship like this before?” she asked. “Or known anyone who was?”

Sara shrugged. “Not really. College was - well, it was college. I’m not sure it counts.” She took a sip of wine. “What about you?”

El shrugged. “I’ve never been in a relationship like this that was as committed as the one Neal, Peter, and I have. But I did have an open relationship with one of my boyfriends after college.” Looking back, El thought that relationship probably wasn’t the best model to base anything on, but at least she’d had some experience. Neither Peter nor Neal had had any. 

“I see,” Sara said. “But you and Peter have never done something like this before?”

“No. But once it happened with Neal, it felt sort of inevitable. It hasn’t been easy,” she added, turning back to the stove. She stirred the soup, then laid a piece of bread in the hot pan, topping it with slices of cheese. “When you’re in love, especially when it’s new, you want to tell everyone. I know that having to keep it a secret makes Neal feel like he’s never quite equal. Peter feels guilty about that.”

“Oh,” Sara said, sounding faintly surprised. “I hadn’t considered that.” She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, until Elizabeth reached a stopping place at the stove and took her wine over to the island. “I’ve done some reading,” she said, then. “After Neal and I agreed to try again, it seemed like I should know more than I do. But it feels like every relationship is different. It’s all so complicated.”

“People are complicated,” Elizabeth said, gently. She cocked her head at Sara and did her best not to frown. “Be honest with me. Are you having second thoughts? Second thoughts that have nothing to do with Peter and me, I mean.”

Sara managed a smile. “I don’t know what thoughts I’m having right now.”

“Well, keep having them,” Elizabeth said, and turned back to the stove just in time to flip a beautifully golden brown grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate. 

Dinner was another very quiet affair. Neal did indeed refuse to eat, but he didn’t want to move upstairs, either. El suspected that he wanted them all where he could see them whenever he opened his eyes. Peter ate in the recliner, where he was most comfortable, while El and Sara ate at the table and talked about plans for tomorrow, most of which revolved around cooking. El was not at all surprised to find out that Sara wasn’t much of a cook. But she was a willing sous chef. 

“It’ll be fun,” El said, dunking half of her grilled cheese sandwich into her soup. “Last year we were at my parents’ house, and my sister and I did most of the cooking because my mom wasn’t feeling well. We put _Love Actually_ on in the kitchen and had a great time.”

“That sounds very . . . festive,” Sara said with a smile that looked just a little forced. 

“Don’t worry, if you’re not a Hugh Grant fan, I won’t coerce you,” El assured her. “We can always watch something else or just play carols.”

Sara’s smile took on a hint of relief. “Carols sound nice. Christmas used to be all about music in my family. I play the cello and my sister played the piano and sang. We were always in two or three recitals in December.”

Somehow, that surprised El - not that Sara had had a cultured upbringing, but that she was so musically-inclined. She’d always struck El as the sort of person who knew a lot about art without actually practicing it. Much like herself. “Do you still play?” 

Sara shook her head. “I gave it up after college. No time. Not much space for a cello, either, in the tiny apartment I had when I first moved to New York. But I still like Christmas carols.”

“There’s a local church that has a concert every Christmas Eve,” Elizabeth said. “Peter and I have gone a few times. I doubt Peter or Neal will be up to it this year, but we can leave them here to watch over dinner and go ourselves.”

Sara’s smile turned thoughtful. “I’d like that,” she said. 

It took a couple hours, but eventually El was finally able to convince Neal to go to bed. She sent Sara up to help him, while she and Peter did the dishes. She left Peter downstairs to let Satchmo out one last time before locking up and climbed the stairs to see how Sara and Neal were getting on. 

Sara was just coming out of the master bedroom. "How’s he doing?” El asked.

Sara frowned. “About the same. He took another pill. I’ve never seen him like this before, so - so _not Neal_.”

El reached out and touched Sara’s wrist briefly. “He’ll be better tomorrow, I promise. Don’t worry. Peter and I will take good care of him.”

Sara smiled. “I know you will. Good night, Elizabeth.” She went inside the guest room and shut the door. 

The lights were off in the master bedroom. El turned on her bedside lamp to its lowest setting and seated herself on the edge of the bed beside Neal. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep yet; he rolled toward her, slitting his eyes open to look at her. “Hi,” he said weakly. 

“Hey there,” she said. “Any better?”

“Not really,” Neal admitted. “Hurts. But I wanted to say - I didn’t get to talk to you earlier - I wanted to say thank you. For asking Sara to come. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” El said, stroking her thumb over the arch of Neal’s cheekbone. “I like Sara. And I want you to be happy. We want you to be happy,” she amended, glancing up to see Peter hovering in the doorway. 

“You two make me happy,” Neal said, leaning into her touch. His eyes drifted shut and then opened again. El thought that he was probably pretty stoned. 

“We know, sweetie,” she said. “That isn’t the point. There aren’t any limits on how much happiness you’re allowed. Or how much love.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But . . .” His eyes drifted shut, and the end of his sentence was lost as he fell asleep. She stood up and changed into her pajamas, then helped Peter change into his - no easy feat, since moving at all was very difficult for him. She made him take another Vicodin, and then she started to climb into bed. 

Neal roused then, briefly. “Can I be in the middle tonight?” he asked, words slurring together from drugs and headache and tiredness.

“Of course,” El said. Peter got in on the other side of him and together they held him, cradled between them, until he fell asleep. Then El turned out the light and reached across Neal to kiss Peter. “I love you,” she murmured. 

“I love you, too,” he said, and shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the pile of pillows that propped him up. 

The Vicodin ensured that both her boys fell asleep quickly. But El lay awake long after they were asleep. She thought about Sara, sleeping alone in the other room, and then she thought about possibilities. She suspected the others were only thinking about one possibility - a sort of joint custody of Neal, in which he flew to London to see Sara or she came to New York to see him, but the four of them rarely, if ever, spent time together. That would work, she thought - for a time. But she wasn’t sure how long Sara would remain happy with that. Or how long Neal would.

But perhaps there were other ways. Peter liked Sara, and El herself had noticed the chemistry between the two of them that time a couple years ago when they’d had to fake having an affair for a case. As awkward as that whole evening had been, it had also been a little, well, _hot_. Her own interest in women was, admittedly, more theory than practice, but she had always thought Sara was beautiful. She had no idea how Sara felt about her. 

It suddenly seemed like it might be worth finding out. 

***

Neal woke the morning of Christmas Eve feeling considerably better. The splitting headache that had tormented him the night before had mostly vanished, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. He still felt a little fatigued, despite having slept for over nine hours, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

El was still asleep in the bed beside him, but Peter had already gotten up. Neal rolled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe. His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d eaten nothing the night before. 

Peter was asleep in his recliner. He’d probably gotten uncomfortable in the middle of the night and come down here. Neal watched him for a moment, smiling to himself, feeling almost stupid with fondness for Peter - and for Elizabeth. There were not many people, he reflected, who would have invited Sara to come stay under these circumstances. He’d never thought he’d have even one person, much less two, who loved him as much as they did.

It made him feel greedy for wanting more. It made him wonder if he was chasing something he was never meant to have. He cared deeply for Sara, and the memory of the proposal that never was had haunted him the last two years; they’d never have their house in Westchester, probably never have Connie and Conrad, their con artist children, but he wanted to see what they could have, if there weren't a tracking anklet and a warehouse full of Nazi treasure between them.

But in trying to find that out, he was asking an awful lot of Peter and Elizabeth. His relationship with them was wonderful, but it wasn’t exactly what he’d call “easy,” and he knew it was harder on Peter than it was on either him or El. The smart thing would probably be to call an end to anything with Sara before they got much further. She’d understand. She might even be relieved.

And yet, when he thought about giving up on having any sort of future with her, his heart ached. 

Neal sighed and went to make coffee and start breakfast. El had bought the ingredients for French toast, so Neal started on that while the coffee percolated. By the time the first pot was ready, Neal had started to hear movement from the living room, if not yet from upstairs. He was soaking the first few pieces of brioche in the egg mixture when Peter finally appeared, looking rumpled and sleepy. Neal took time out from the French toast to pour Peter a cup of coffee. 

Peter breathed it in, then took a sip. “Ah. June’s?”

“Got it in one. French toast?”

“Please. Any chance there might be bacon hidden in the fridge?”

“Yes, there is, but no, we can’t have any,” Neal said. He slid the first couple pieces onto the hot griddle. “It’s for tomorrow. You’ll have to make due with cholesterol-laden French toast and sugary maple syrup.”

“Sounds delicious,” Peter said. He leaned against the kitchen island. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

“I am,” Neal said. “I’ll probably need a nap after this, but at least I can stand.”

Peter stood behind him and slid his arms around Neal’s waist from behind. Neal drew a deep breath; he didn’t lean back into Peter’s comforting solidity the way he usually would have, but he did let his head fall back to rest on Peter’s shoulder. “Good,” Peter murmured. “I hate seeing you in so much pain.”

Neal laid his hand over Peter’s at his stomach and squeezed it gently. “I’m okay.”

“You might not have been,” Peter murmured. 

Neal turned in Peter’s arms and kissed him, gently. “But I was. And so were you. Basically.”

“Basically,” Peter agreed, but without the wry smile Neal had expected. 

Neal turned back to the stove, but Peter remained standing behind him, arms around his waist. Neal flipped the French toast over, then pressed his hand against Peter’s again. This display of affection from Peter, while not exactly unprecedented, was a bit . . . unusual. But Peter was not a particularly subtle guy, and Neal thought that if he just stayed quiet, Peter would eventually come out with it on his own. 

One batch of French toast was done and the next one started before Peter spoke. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured. Neal went very still. “Not to some jerk with a crowbar and not to - to -”

Neal waited. “Peter?” he prompted at last. 

“Not to Sara,” Peter finally finished. His breath rushed out of him, soft against the skin of Neal’s neck. “I don’t want to lose you to Sara.”

Neal turned to look at him in surprise. “You’re not going to lose me to Sara,” he said. “Are you really afraid of that?”

“Is it really so strange that I am?” Peter replied. “I don’t begrudge you having a relationship with her. But I don’t want to wake up one morning and find that you’re living in London and we haven’t seen you in months. And you can’t promise me that isn’t going to happen,” he added, just as Neal opened his mouth to do exactly that. 

Neal frowned. “I suppose I can’t. But that isn’t my intention, Peter, I promise you. I love you and El, and I love my life with you two. But Sara and I never really got to see what we could be, and I want to find out.”

Peter looked away. “And it’d be nice to have a relationship your partner could admit to.”

Neal sighed. “I don’t think it’s my main motivation,” he said, “but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a perq.” Peter nodded, still not looking at him. Neal reached up and took hold of his chin, turning his face back to look at him. “Hey. I love you, all right? If nothing that happened to us while I was on the anklet could change that, it’s not going to change now.”

Peter nodded. Neal kissed him, then turned back to the stove. This last batch had gotten a little darker than he preferred, but they were still entirely edible. After a few seconds, Peter let him go. But somehow Neal thought that he hadn’t succeeded in assuaging Peter’s fears.

El joined them just in time for breakfast. The three of them ate in the living room, so that Peter could be comfortable. Sara stumbled down when they were nearly done, looking groggy and disoriented. “Jetlag,” she said, by way of explanation. “I fell asleep at ten, woke up at two, and was awake until six. Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“There is,” Neal said, going to get her a cup. “There’s also French toast, if you’d like some.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m okay with coffee for now,” Sara said. “Just give me a couple minutes to caffeinate,” she added to El, who was flipping through cookbooks at the dining room table. “Then I’ll be happy to help.”

“Help?” Neal said, returning with her coffee mug in hand. “With the cooking?”

Sara balled up a napkin and threw it at him. “Yes, with the cooking,” she said, glaring at him. “Don’t sound so surprised, Caffrey.”

“Sorry,” Neal said, not bothering to hide his smile. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you make anything other than reservations.”

“Oh shut up,” Sara said, even as Elizabeth and Peter laughed. 

It wasn’t _quite_ true; he’d seen her make the occasional salad, but never anything that involved a pan over heat. He spent the afternoon drifting back and forth between the living room, where Peter was watching football but there was a sofa to lie down on, and the kitchen, where there was no sofa but there _was_ the fascinating phenomenon of the _Sara Ellis domesticus_. Neal had never actually seen this particular Sara Ellis before - the type that wore a _Kiss the Cook_ apron, chopped celery for the stuffing, and got tipsy with Elizabeth on mimosas made with mediocre champagne in the middle of the afternoon.

By four o’clock, the house smelled like herbs from the stuffing and cinnamon from the apple pie El had put in to bake. Snow had started to fall outside - not very much, but it was supposed to stick and accumulate a couple inches by morning, according to the forecast. Elizabeth and Sara went upstairs to get ready to go to the carols concert, and Neal went into the kitchen to check the stuffing and heat up some hot cider for himself and Peter. El had left him a list of detailed instructions on when to take certain things out of the oven and when to put other things (like the Cornish game hens) in, but nothing needed to happen for a few minutes yet. 

When he came back to the living room, mugs in hand, he found Peter out of the recliner and standing by the living room window, watching the snow fall. “Hey,” Neal said, nudging Peter’s shoulder with his own. 

“Hey,” Peter said, a little absently. He took the mug of cider from Neal and blew on it. “Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas.”

“Looks like,” Neal said. “That’s still sort of novel to me. We didn’t have them that often in St. Louis when I was a kid - it snowed off and on during the winter, but it almost never seemed to happen on Christmas.”

“We had them every year,” Peter said, wistfully. “I grew up right in the snow belt upstate. There was always snow for Christmas.”

Neal slipped his free hand into Peter’s. “I’m sorry you’re not up there right now. I know you wanted to be with your family this year.”

Peter turned to look at him. “You’re my family, Neal,” he said quietly, and kissed him. It was a warm kiss, full of affection, and it made Neal feel loved right down to his toes. He leaned into it when Peter would have pulled away, not wanting to let it go just yet. It was a little awkward, since they were both holding hot mugs in one hand, but they managed. When they finally parted, they were both breathing quickly, and Neal mentally damned concussions _and_ cracked ribs for ensuring that neither of them would be doing anything more than kissing in the immediate future. 

Peter rested his forehead against Neal’s. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Neal said, and let Peter pull him close as they watched the snow fall outside. 

***

It might have been the mimosas talking, but Sara thought it had been years since she’d last had a Christmas as enjoyable as this one. The last really good Christmas she’d had with her parents, she’d been twelve; by the next December, her sister was gone, and celebrating Christmas only reminded her parents of what they’d lost. They made an effort - most years they had a tree, and she always got a handful of gifts - but there was never a big Christmas dinner, never an exciting Christmas morning. There was never any music. 

Once she went away to college, she’d mostly gone home with friends for Christmas. That was better than having to watch her parents grieve, but it was never the same to spend it with someone else’s family. And as she’d gotten older, she’d given up on ever having that again. Helping Elizabeth in the kitchen today, while Neal teased her and Peter watched football in the other room, had been the first time in over two decades that Sara had felt anything even remotely akin to what she remembered from her childhood.

But it was foolish to get sentimental, Sara thought. This was a one-off under extenuating circumstances. Peter and Elizabeth were Neal’s family, not her own, and she knew better than to mistake kindness for love. Still, there was no reason not to enjoy herself, as long as she managed her own expectations. 

“You ready?” Sara called to Elizabeth as she stepped out of the guestroom. 

“Not quite,” Elizabeth said, sticking her head out of the bathroom. “Just need a couple more minutes. It’s only a ten minute walk.”

“Sure,” Sara said, and started down the stairs. But halfway down she stopped. 

Peter and Neal were standing together at the front window, and there was something about them - their postures or the angles of their bodies, maybe - that brought her up short. She knew, without quite knowing how she knew, that she was intruding on something intimate. She hesitated, unsure whether to go back upstairs or just make a bit more noise so that they knew she was there. Before she could decide, Peter kissed Neal. 

Since Sara had arrived, she hadn’t seen either Peter or Elizabeth kiss Neal; there had been plenty of affection between the three of the them, but neither of them had kissed him in front of her. Sara had mostly been grateful for the courtesy, since she wasn’t at all sure how she’d feel about it. But her reaction now was nothing like she’d expected. 

Her breath caught. They were beautiful together. Even wearing hideous sweaters and shapeless trousers, even awkwardly juggling coffee mugs, they were beautiful. And they were clearly very much in love. 

Sara retreated as quietly as possible back upstairs. “Forget something?” El asked from the bathroom. 

“Just changed my mind about my shoes,” Sara replied, and went into the guest room. She had to stop and breathe for a minute, trying futilely to sort through her emotions. Not _jealous_ , per se, but envious. Envious of what they had. 

And maybe a little turned on. Well, that was unexpected. 

“Ready to go?” El said from Sara’s doorway.

“Yes,” Sara said, managing a quick smile. “Just let me grab my coat.”

Outside, the snow was falling more thickly and starting to pile up on parked cars and benches. Elizabeth set a brisk pace, which Sara was only too happy to meet. There was much less traffic than usual, and the snow muffled a lot of the usual city-noise. The only sounds to be heard as they walked were their own footsteps and breathing. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Elizabeth said, after they’d gone a block or so. 

“Oh, I’m just . . . thinking,” Sara said. 

“About anything in particular?” 

Sara paused before answering. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, after all, and there was no reason for Elizabeth to be angry with her. “You’re a very lucky woman,” she said at last. 

“Well, yes, I am,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “But is there anything in particular that makes you say so?”

“When I went downstairs, after I finished getting ready - Peter and Neal were standing at the window and they didn’t know I was there.”

“Ah. You got an eyeful?” Elizabeth guessed. 

“Not an _eyeful_ , exactly,” Sara said. “They were kissing. I hadn’t thought about it much before, I guess. Maybe I’d tried not to. But the two of them are . . . striking.”

Elizabeth gave a quiet laugh. “It’s okay, you can say it. They’re gorgeous together. And Peter, at least, has no idea. Though I suspect Neal knows.”

“Oh, you can bet Neal knows,” Sara said with a smirk. 

Elizabeth grinned. “So did you watch?”

Sara felt her ears turn red at the very idea. “No! At least, not for very long. I went back upstairs.”

“To ‘change your shoes’,” Elizabeth said, adding quote marks around the phrase with her fingers. 

“Yes.” Sara shrugged. “It seemed too private. They didn’t know I was there. And Peter would’ve been mortified.” Neal’s outrage would’ve been weaker, she sensed, if it was present at all. She had the sneaking suspicion that Peter had been more of a presence in her and Neal’s bedroom the first time they were together than she’d realized. 

“Mmm,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe.”

Sara shrugged. “Anyway, you wanted to know what I was thinking.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said. To Sara’s surprise she reached out and linked her arm through hers. “Well, I can hardly blame you for being distracted under the circumstances. But let’s hurry. It’s just on the next block, and I’m freezing.”

The church was shockingly warm after the air outside. It was also very crowded, but Elizabeth and Sara managed to find two seats together. A young girl came around with a basketful of programs, and Sara took one for herself and one for Elizabeth. The program had a lot of classics on it, including her own favorite - “Carol of the Bells” - and her sister’s, “Silent Night.” Her sister had sung it as a solo the year before she disappeared. Sara hadn’t thought about that night in years, but as she sat watching the choir file in and arrange themselves, she had a sudden, startlingly vivid memory of watching Emily sing. She’d never heard her sound so lovely as she did that night. 

She didn’t think she’d reacted at all outwardly, but Elizabeth glanced at her. “You all right?” she whispered. Sara managed a nod, but there was no time to answer before the music began. 

Sara had had plenty of music in her life in the twenty-three years that had passed since her sister disappeared. She’d continued playing the cello in college, and as soon as she’d had enough disposable income, she’d bought season tickets to both the Met and the Philharmonic. But it had been a long time since she’d sat in a normal church - nothing amazing, no special acoustics - and listened to music quite like this. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot; Sara had heard much better music in her life. But perfection wasn’t the point. 

“Everything has a crack in it, darling,” her mother had told her once, when Sara had been in tears after a recital. She had been good, _very_ good even. But she hadn’t been perfect. “That’s how the light gets in.”

She hadn’t understood then what her mother had meant, and it hadn’t stopped her from chasing perfection, especially after her sister ran away and her parents mostly stopped paying attention to their remaining daughter. Back then, all she’d have heard in this music were the “problems” - the missed notes, the moments that were just slightly off key - and she could have provided a list of them to anyone who’d listen. But now, she could see the light shining through the cracks. 

When it came time for “Silent Night,” a group of children came down the aisle, handing out thin, white candles. They lit the candle of the person on the end of the row, and that person lit the candle of the person sitting next to them and so on until it reached the end. Sara accepted her light from Elizabeth and held the candle just below the cardboard wax-catcher. A young woman, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, came to the fore, and everyone in the church went very still. 

She could have been Emily. Not truly, of course; Emily would be almost forty now. And quite honestly, they didn’t look anything alike. But this young woman clearly loved the music she was singing, just as Emily had, and she gave it her all. 

By the end of it, Sara had tears standing in her eyes. She didn’t dare blink, lest they spill over. But despite her best efforts, Elizabeth must have noticed. She reached out and took Sara’s hand in hers, linking their fingers together. Sara could have pulled her hand away, but she didn’t. 

The music ended. Most people stayed in their seats for evening services, but Sara and Elizabeth stood and quietly slipped out the back. Elizabeth took her arm and together they started back toward the house. 

At first, neither of them spoke. After a block or so, Sara felt like she was capable of speaking without her voice breaking. She took a deep breath. “Thank you. That was lovely.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Elizabeth said. “I wasn’t sure. You looked upset.”

“Not upset,” Sara said, quickly. She paused, wondering how much she should say. She didn’t want to talk about her sister, not right then. “It’s just - it’s been a long time since I’ve had a family of my own at Christmas. Seeing you and Peter and Neal together is . . . it’s wonderful in some ways and hard in others.”

“Bittersweet,” Elizabeth supplied. 

“Yes, exactly,” Sara said, relieved that Elizabeth understood. “I stopped hoping for what the three of you have a long time ago. You’re so lucky, and I don’t see why Neal wants to complicate things by starting something with me.”

Elizabeth stopped walking, forcing Sara to stop as well. “Because sometimes something - or someone - is worth a few complications. Peter and I have a great marriage. A lot of people would wonder why we wanted to complicate it by bringing Neal into it. But it was worth it. _He_ is worth it. And so are you, Sara. I wish you’d believe that.”

Sara shook her head. “I know my own self-worth.”

“I’m not sure you do, actually,” Elizabeth said. She drew a deep breath. “Listen, I’ve been thinking. I think there’s a way for us to do this where everyone gets what they want and what they need. And then some, probably. But it’s a bit unconventional.”

Sara blinked. “For you to say that makes me nervous. What is it?”

“It’s probably easier to show than tell,” Elizabeth said, and stepped into Sara’s personal space. She placed a hand on Sara’s arm, though Sara could barely feel it through the layers of wool she was wearing. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” Elizabeth murmured. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” Sara said, very quietly, barely breathing, and then Elizabeth kissed her - a soft, not quite chaste press of lips, only slightly awkward when the cold tips of their noses bumped against each other. Sara breathed in sharply, and Elizabeth pulled away, though she didn’t let go of Sara’s arm. 

“Too much?” Elizabeth said. “I hope I didn’t shock you.”

“Surprised me, yes,” Sara said. “Shocked me, no. It’s just been a while since I did that.” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at her, and Sara shrugged, looping her arm through Elizabeth’s and tugging her down the sidewalk toward the house. “I did go to Smith, you know. It was practically a rite of passage.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I see. Is that all it was?”

Sara was quiet for a moment, thinking of quiet, artistic Jessie her sophomore year, and bright, athletic Karyn her senior year. “Maybe not quite all,” she said.

Elizabeth nodded. “Are you onboard then?” 

Sara pressed her lips together. “Are we really talking about what I think we are? All of four of us?” She frowned. “Is this what you meant by ‘playing on the same team’?”

“It wasn’t at the time,” Elizabeth admitted. “But it is now. Tell me you’ve never thought about Peter that way. Tell me you didn’t think about the two of them that way this afternoon.” 

“Um,” Sara said, feeling a flush creep up her neck toward her ears. “I plead the fifth.”

Elizabeth bumped her shoulder against Sara’s. “That’s what I thought.” Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m not saying it will all be equal at first. But I like you, Sara. You’re smart and you’re beautiful and you can keep Neal in line, and that takes talent. I know you don’t see how you could fit into our family, but I do.”

Sara wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I - all right. Let’s say I’m in. What happens next?”

Elizabeth smiled. “We convince the boys. Not that Neal is likely to take much convincing, this is probably a dream come true for him. So really, we convince Peter.”

“How?” Sara asked. 

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, her smile dipping slightly in one corner, “you should probably leave that to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

There were not many hard and fast rules in Peter and El’s marriage. They had lots of mutual agreements, but few real rules. But El knew that she’d broken a fairly significant one when she’d kissed Sara without talking to Peter first. 

When they had first decided to let Neal into their marriage, they’d spent a lot of time talking about where and how and when and who, and when it had finally happened - Peter, of course, at Neal’s, probably after one too many beers - he’d cleared it with her via text first. El had been adamant about open and honest communication between the three of them, because she knew that the minute someone lied - the minute this started to feel like _cheating_ to any one of them - it was over. She didn’t care that talking about feelings and sex made Peter uncomfortable, and she didn’t care that Neal’s first instinct was to put the best possible “spin” on any given situation; she needed total honesty from both of them or it would never work.

And now, she’d broken her own rule, big time. Not that she intended to lie about it; quite the opposite. And she’d had her reasons for doing what she’d done, the main one being that she’d wanted to find out if she and Sara had any potential at all before taking things further. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d kissed someone else without speaking to Peter - or Neal, for that matter - about it first, and they’d be well within their rights to be upset about it. 

El didn’t say a word about it when they arrived home to a house that smelled amazing. Neal had followed her directions to the letter, and he was just pulling the Cornish game hens out of the oven when they walked in the door. All she had to do was whip the potatoes and they were ready to eat. 

Peter and Neal were still on painkillers, so they didn’t get any wine, much to Neal’s annoyance; and no, he informed El grumpily, sparkling grape juice was not the same. But the food turned out wonderfully, and for the the first time in several days, everyone was awake and well enough to enjoy dinner. Peter insisted on sitting at the table, even though El knew that it had to hurt his ribs. But: “It’s Christmas Eve dinner, El. You busted your ass on it all day, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat it sitting in the recliner.”

After dinner, El suggested that Sara and Neal take Satchmo for a quick walk. She saw them out, then drew a deep breath. Keeping it a secret for longer than necessary certainly wouldn’t help her, and she was certain that Peter would eventually see why she had done it. It was like she’d told Sara: this was the only way that everyone got what they wanted and needed, the only way that everyone would be happy. It might not be easy, and it might not be entirely equal at first, but she could see a future here. 

Peter was putting food away in the fridge when she came back in. “Peter Burke, what are you doing?” she demanded. “Stop that.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said. 

“You are not,” El replied, rolling her eyes. “If you have to do something, do the dishes. Let me put the food away.”

Peter shrugged, then winced, pressing a hand to his side. El gave him a look and took the container of potatoes out of his hands. She slid it into the fridge, then straightened up to look at him. He was standing at the sink, up to his elbows in soapy water. 

He must have felt her looking at him, because he glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Leave that for now,” she said. “I have something to tell you.” She slid onto one of the island stools. 

He wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “That’s ominous,” he said, coming over to stand in front of her. “What’s going on?”

The best way to be with Peter was direct, even if it felt painful. Better to rip off the band-aid than try and talk around it. “I kissed Sara.”

Peter blinked at her. Then he blinked again. “You - what?”

“I kissed Sara,” El said. “On the way back from the concert.”

“You - but - _why_?” Peter demanded. 

“Because I wanted to know if there could be anything between us,” El said. Peter reared back, as though she’d slapped him, and she reached out, catching his hand in hers. “Hon, listen to me. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking since Sara’s been here, and you’re right. This situation - the three of us, the two of them - it’s not a longterm solution. But I think I know what could be.”

Peter didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t return her gentle squeeze, either. “And somehow this solution involves kissing Sara Ellis on the street?”

“It involves the four of us, together.”

Peter shook his head, almost as though he was trying to clear water from his ears. “I don’t understand. El, aren’t you happy?”

Her heart broke a little. “I am,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “Peter, believe me, I am. But we were happy before Neal, too, and having him with us has only made us happier. It’s like that.”

“It is _not_ like that,” Peter said. “Sara is my friend, but she’s not - I’m not in love with her. I didn’t think you were either.”

“I’m not,” El said. “Not yet. But I feel like there’s potential there.”

Peter stared at her. “I don’t - I don’t know what to say.” The front door opened and shut, but Peter didn’t seem to hear it. “Does Neal know?”

“Does Neal know what?” Neal asked, appearing in the threshold, Sara just behind him. Satchmo made a beeline for his water bowl. 

“That your - your _girlfriend_ kissed my _wife_ ,” Peter said. 

“Peter,” El said, quietly. 

“Actually, it was Elizabeth who kissed me,” Sara said. 

Peter ignored her. “Neal, did you know?”

“Sara just told me,” Neal said. He was still wearing his coat, and he shrugged out of it now. “So no, not at the time.”

Peter frowned. “You’re awfully calm.”

Neal frowned back at him. “Am I supposed to be mad? I don’t really see how I have the right to tell Sara anything, and Elizabeth is . . .” Neal paused to catch Elizabeth’s eye. “She’s your wife, Peter. Not mine.” He took a deep breath. “And I understand why she did it.”

Peter shook his head. “And you agree?” he asked incredulously. 

“I don’t know,” Neal said. “I don’t know if any of us can know yet. I know that I love the two of you and I -” he swallowed “- I care deeply about Sara. I want to try and make it work with all of you, somehow. My idea is one way. Elizabeth’s is another.”

Peter stared at him, then at Elizabeth, then finally at Sara. Slowly, he shook his head and pulled his hand away from hers. “No,” he said. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Elizabeth reached for him, but he stepped out of her reach. “Peter, honey, I know it’s a lot to take in -”

“ _No_ ,” he said. “Just no, El.” He took a deep breath, almost a gasp. “I’m sorry, I need some air.”

He turned and left. El started after him, but Neal grabbed her arm and held her back. “Let him go,” he said quietly. “He needs to clear his head. It’s okay.”

The front door opened and shut. El pulled away from Neal. How had this gone so badly? She’d thought that Peter would be relieved for there to be another solution, but it seemed she’d badly misjudged how he was feeling about everything. She’d known that he was anxious about Neal and Sara, but she’d thought this would make it better, not worse. 

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. Neal’s arm went around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. “This is - this is my fault. I didn’t realize - I thought he’d see that it was better this way. That it could be so much better this way.”

Sara sighed. “Everyone has their limits.”

“I know,” El said. “And I should’ve seen - I should’ve realized what Peter’s were.” She drew a deep breath and quickly wiped at the moisture on her eyelashes. “I should go after him.”

“No,” Sara said, slowly. El looked at her and saw that she was frowning thoughtfully. “I’ll go. I think he and I need to talk. Where do you think he’d go?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I have no idea. He might just be sitting on the front step.”

“I doubt it,” Neal said. “He’d want more space than that, but it’s too cold and icy out for him to want to walk for very long. He wouldn’t drive on Vicodin. There’s a Starbucks two streets over, and they’re probably still open. I bet he’d go there.”

Sara nodded. “Then that’s where I’ll go.” She stepped forward and hugged El. El closed her eyes and pressed her face into Sara’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she said, and left. 

Neal and El stood without speaking for a moment after the front door had shut. “I’m sorry, Neal,” El said at last. 

“It’s okay,” he said, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I just wish you’d talked to me first.”

She looked up at him. “What would you have said if I had?”

Neal sighed. “I’d have told you it wasn’t a good idea. Peter was in love with me, and that was how the three of us were able to make it work. It seemed worth the risk to him. But he isn’t in love with Sara, and so the risk just seems too great.” He shrugged. “And maybe it is. But it means a lot to me that you tried,” he added, wrapping his arms around her. “It was very brave.”

She leaned into him. “It was more stupid than anything else.”

Neal rested his chin on the top of her head. “Most acts of bravery are.”

***

There weren’t a lot of places to go on Christmas Eve, but the Starbucks on the next street was open for another twenty minutes according to the holiday hours placard in the window. Peter bought a cup of decaf and found himself a place to sit and brood. 

He was embarrassed now more than anything else. He wasn’t _angry_ , really, he was just - shocked. El hadn’t said a word about what she was thinking, and even now he didn’t get it. He understood why Neal wasn’t completely content with him and Elizabeth, but he didn’t understand how the four of them, an idea he could barely wrap his head around, would be any more stable. Four people meant four complex, occasionally difficult personalities. Four different sexual preferences. Four different _careers_. 

But that wasn’t the problem, really. The crux of the matter was simple: he wasn’t in love with Sara Ellis. For that reason alone, he couldn’t see how it would ever work. 

He loved El, and she was rarely wrong when it came to matters of the heart. But she was wrong this time. 

The bell over the door went off. Peter glanced up, half-expecting to see El or Neal, only to see Sara instead. She caught his eye, then stepped up to the counter to order. Her drink came quickly, since she was the only one in line, and he was surprised to see that there was a generous amount of whipped cream on top. 

“I realized I hadn’t had my annual peppermint mocha yet,” she said, sliding in across from him. “I know there’s dessert waiting back at the house, but I thought, what the hell.” She used a spoon to take off part of the whipped cream and ate it. 

She seemed content to drink her mocha, but Peter felt the ensuing silence acutely. “I thought that if anyone came after me, it’d be El or Neal,” he said at last.

Sara laid her spoon down and put the lid on her coffee. “They wanted to, but I thought you and I should talk.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Sara, if I’ve made you think or led you to believe -”

“You haven’t,” Sara said, evenly. “And I understand that you’re not comfortable with any of this. If I’m totally honest, you’re not the only one.”

Strangely, that made Peter feel better. “El and Neal don’t seem to have any problem with it at all.”

Sara pursed her lips. “I’m not sure that’s true. But it’s possible that they’re a bit more . . .”

“Imaginative?” Peter suggested. 

“Flexible,” Sara said, with half a smile. “It’s possible they’re a bit more flexible than we are. But there’s nothing wrong with us for feeling differently than they do.”

“I feel like there is,” Peter said, as though he was making a confession. “Even back when El and I first started talking about - about letting Neal in, she was ready so much sooner than I was. I was the one who slowed everything down. I was just so damn afraid - and now, I feel like if it weren’t for me, this might work. But I’m holding us back, just because I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Sara’s smile turned sympathetic. “Well, like I said: you aren’t the only one who’s having trouble.” 

“You seemed to be doing okay with it before,” Peter said, frowning. “And my impression is that you didn’t exactly run screaming when El kissed you.”

“Well, you have me there,” she said with a shrug. “Your wife is a good kisser, as I’m sure you know. And I find I’m open to new ideas if it means I get to be with Neal.”

“Me too,” Peter said, ruefully. “But that’s a lousy basis for a relationship. I want to be with Neal. You want to be with Neal. There’s nothing in that equation that means we want to be with each other. You can’t just - just flip a switch on something like this.”

“No, you can’t,” Sara said. “But the truth is, Peter - I like you. You’re smart and you’re funny, and I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

Peter blinked at her. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said, very evenly. “Really. And the fact that you have no idea makes you all the _more_ attractive. Especially compared to someone like Neal, who knows all too well how sexy he is.”

Peter sipped rapidly at his cooling coffee to cover up his own consternation. Anyone with eyes in their head had to recognize that Sara was beautiful, and he’d always liked her personally. But he’d never really thought about her sexually. First she was a colleague, someone he worked with, and later she was Neal’s girlfriend. That hadn’t left much room for more than the occasional passing thought. Not that he hadn’t _had_ the occasional passing thought. But it had really never occurred to him that she might have them, too. He would have thought that anyone who was sleeping with Neal Caffrey wouldn’t have any need for passing thoughts about anyone else.

He was still trying to figure out what to say when Sara drew a deep breath. “And here’s some more truth,” she said, and this time she avoided his eyes. “I want to be with Neal, but the last couple of days have made me want more than that. The last few days, watching the three of you together - I want to be a part of that in whatever way works for us. If I can be. Though I can’t promise I’m going to be very good at it,” she added with an awkward laugh. 

Peter blinked. He didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh,” he said at last, brilliantly. 

“But that doesn’t mean that it has to be all four of us together,” she added. “That’s one idea. But there might be others. And none of them has to happen now.”

Peter relaxed, fractionally. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I just need some time.”

“Time is something we have,” she replied, with another half-smile. “And if you don’t feel anything toward me, that’s okay, Peter. You can’t make yourself feel something you don’t.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you,” he said again. He was more grateful than Sara probably knew for her understanding, which was something he wouldn’t have looked for from her. From El and Neal, maybe, but he hadn’t expected Sara Ellis to _get him_ the way she did. 

He glanced at his watch. “We should go,” he said, standing and hopefully hiding his wince at the way his ribs twinged. “Let them close up shop.”

Outside, snow had started to fall more thickly. The sidewalk was slick, and Peter stepped carefully; the last thing he needed was to fall and injure himself worse. Sara, clearly thinking the same thing, kept one hand just below his elbow. After a half a block or so, Peter linked his arm through hers and allowed himself to lean on her for balance. 

They were nearly home before either of them spoke. Peter couldn’t help but think about family - the family he’d been lucky enough to be born into, and one he’d created, with El and Neal. He and El were the lucky ones among the four of them, he thought. Neal’s family didn’t bear thinking about, and Sara’s - well, Sara didn’t say much, but that in and of itself was telling. 

And unlike Neal, who had a family of his own, unconventional though it might be, Sara had never managed to replace the family she’d lost. Possibly she didn’t think she was capable of it. But Peter knew better. Sara might not think she knew how to be part of a family, but she’d flown across an ocean for Neal on a moment’s notice, and if that wasn’t family, then Peter didn’t know what was. 

Peter stopped Sara just short of the house. “Listen, Sara. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But if you’re Neal’s family, then you’re our family, regardless of anything else.”

Sara blinked, then swallowed. For a moment, Peter caught a glimpse of some undefined but intense emotion just behind her eyes. Then she blinked again, and just like that, whatever he’d caught a glimpse of was gone. “Thank you,” was all she said. Peter nodded and let her help him up the icy steps to the front door.

Elizabeth and Neal had clearly been watching for them. Peter had barely gotten in the door before El was there, hugging him. Painfully. “Ribs,” Peter managed to grunt, and El eased up immediately. 

“Sorry,” she said, and pulled away to look at him. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Hon, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. He kissed her, then let his forehead rest against hers. “It’s okay. I just - I needed some time.”

She nodded. “I should have realized. I shouldn’t have just made the decision for both of us - for all of us,” she added, glancing toward Neal. 

“It’s okay,” Peter repeated, pulling away to look at her. “Really, El. Now, I think someone said something about pie?”

“Pie, yes,” El said, with a shaky smile in his direction. “Let’s have pie.” She kissed him one last time, then headed into the kitchen. Sara gave him a small smile and followed in her wake. 

Neal hung back. “Hey,” he said, catching hold of Peter’s sleeve. “You okay?”

“I am,” Peter said, hoping this would be the last time either of them asked him that. “But I wanted to tell you something - if you want to, and if Sara wants to, I think you should stay with her tonight. In the guest room, I mean.”

Whatever Neal had expected from him, it clearly wasn’t that. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Neal looked him hard in the eyes. “You’d be okay with that?”

“I would be. If that’s what you both want, of course.”

Neal stared at him for a moment longer, then slid his hand around the back of Peter’s neck and kissed him. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to look Peter in the eyes. “I know that none of this is how you imagined your life -”

“No, it’s not,” Peter admitted, before Neal could go any further. “But honestly, it’s so much better, and that’s - that might be part of the problem. You’ll have to forgive me if sometimes it takes me a while to catch up. I’m not a cappuccino in the clouds kind of guy, you know that, and this - you and El - it feels like a fantasy. Like a dream.”

“I get that,” Neal said. “But you need to stop waiting for the dream to go bad. Whatever happens, however things change, it isn’t going to, I promise.”

Peter nodded, just as he’d done a hundred times before, whenever El or Neal tried to reassure him. But this time, he thought he might actually believe it.

***

Neal woke on Christmas morning feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. His head ached, and he felt sick to his stomach and weighed down by an exhaustion that eight hours of sleep hadn’t even touched. His doctor had told him that he’d be feeling the effects of his concussion for at least a week, but he was still disappointed. He’d felt so much better yesterday that he’d hoped to get a reprieve through Christmas. But it seemed that that wasn’t how head injuries worked. 

But he told himself firmly that it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let anything ruin today. Last night had been rough, and they all deserved a peaceful Christmas morning. It was time to cowboy up, as Peter would say. But somehow, he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with hiding how he was feeling altogether. He might’ve been able to hide it from any one of them individually, but all three of them at the same time was asking a bit much of himself in his current state. Still, there was no reason for anyone to know exactly how lousy he felt.

Sara was still sleeping, face pressed against his arm. Neal rolled over carefully and kissed her softly, reaching down to trace the soft skin at the dip in her waist with the backs of his fingers. She stirred and kissed him back, sleepily at first and then with purpose. “Mmm,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Neal replied, nuzzling into her neck, breathing her in, wishing that he felt well enough for more than that. “I could get used to this, waking up with you.”

She sighed. “I still live in London, you know.”

“I know,” Neal murmured against the skin of her clavicle. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Sorry,” Sara said. She kissed him again, but the spell was broken. “I’ll go put some coffee on. Why don’t you wake up Elizabeth and Peter?”

Neal pulled away to smile at her. “What did I do to deserve you?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “You stole a Raphael.” 

“And then gave it back,” he reminded her. 

“Eventually,” she said, pointedly.

“Eventually,” he agreed with a smile, thinking of the gift that waited for her downstairs beneath the tree. “But hey, that’s what counts, right?”

“I suppose,” she said with a laugh, and gave him a push out of bed. His head swam a little when he stood up, but he steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost, and Sara didn’t notice. 

Peter and Elizabeth were both awake and talking quietly when Neal slipped into their room. El immediately moved over and lifted the covers so that Neal could slide into bed beside her. “Merry Christmas,” he said, kissing first El and then leaning across her to kiss Peter. El made a contented noise, watching them. 

“Sara’s downstairs making coffee,” Neal said, once they’d all exchanged Christmas morning greetings. He hesitated before deciding he had to ask. Better to ask and know than to not ask and wonder. “Was this okay? Are we okay?” Peter had said, Peter had _told_ him, even, that it was all right for Neal to spend the night with Sara. But Neal knew exactly how easy it was to make someone believe something they’d already wanted to. The entire art of the con was based on that basic tenet of human psychology. 

Elizabeth and Peter exchanged a glance. “Yes, sweetie,” El said, stroking a hand down his chest. “We missed you, but we’re okay.”

“What she said,” Peter said. El poked him and he grunted. “We’re okay,” he amended, a little sheepishly. He frowned at Neal. “How are you feeling? You look kind of pale.”

Of course it would be Peter who’d figure him out first. Neal should never have expected anything else. “I have a headache,” he admitted. “But nothing too terrible.” And it wasn’t, in comparison to how he’d felt a couple days ago. He could think and walk and talk, and he’d probably even eat something for breakfast. 

“Do you want a Vicodin?” El asked. 

The last thing Neal wanted was to be woozy and stoned on Christmas. “Maybe just a couple Advil,” he said, and shook a couple tablets out of the container on the bedside table. He swallowed them with a few sips from Elizabeth’s water glass, and he didn’t protest when Elizabeth pulled him close and gently kneaded the nape of his neck with her fingers. 

It actually did help his headache. He could have stayed there all morning, tucked up in bed with the two of them, but he was conscious of Sara waiting for them downstairs. “Come on,” he said, pulling away much sooner than he would have liked. “Christmas waits for no one.”

Downstairs, the house smelled of coffee from the pot that was already percolating. Neal watched closely as Sara wished El and Peter a good morning and a merry Christmas, but to his relief there was no obvious awkwardness. El’s greatest fear the night before had been that Peter would see what she’d done as a betrayal; Neal, knowing there wasn’t much Peter wouldn’t forgive El for, had been less worried about that. But he had been afraid that it would make everything more awkward, and even Peter telling him to spend the night with Sara hadn’t quite alleviated that fear. 

But that didn’t seem to be the case. In fact, unless all three of them were very good actors or Neal was really off his game (not completely out of the question, given the way his head was throbbing), he thought there was considerably less awkwardness than there had been. Peter even hugged Sara when he wished her a merry Christmas, and the smile she gave him was a lot less tentative than some Neal had seen from her over the last few days. It was the best Christmas gift he could have gotten, really. He hung back, watching as the three of them poured coffee and sliced up on the coffee cake El had bought from her favorite bakery the day before. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid turning down the cup of coffee Sara offered him in favor of tea. This made her look at him sideways, but with the way his stomach felt, coffee would have been a bad idea. 

Neal hoped that only Sara noticed, but he should have known better. Nothing escaped the Peter Burke Gut Detector, especially since he’d already picked up on the fact that Neal wasn’t feeling well. When El and Sara went into the living room with their coffees, Peter hung back and caught Neal by the hand. “Hey, you all right?” he said. “You’re awfully quiet, and you really don’t look very well.”

Neal thought about denying it, but he could tell from the look on Peter’s face that he had his number. “My head hurts and I’m a little queasy, that’s all,” he said. “But I don’t want to ruin Christmas. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Peter frowned. “You sure you don’t want to go lie down for a bit? We can hold off on presents for a few hours until you’re feeling better.”

“It’s not that bad. Really,” he insisted, when Peter looked skeptical.

“Okay,” Peter said, and slid his arm around Neal’s shoulders. “But you’ll say if you start feeling worse?”

“I will,” Neal promised, leaning into Peter briefly. 

It was easier after that. To Neal’s relief, Peter didn’t say anything to El or Sara. But Neal also let up on acting like he felt better than he did. He let Peter install him in one corner of the sofa, tucked beneath a throw with Sara beside him. He watched with a certain sense of justice as El talked Peter into taking a Vicodin and sitting in his recliner, rather than trying to build the fire. She built the fire herself, no help from Peter necessary, then fetched the stockings that were hanging on the mantel.

The stockings were mostly filled with food, per Elizabeth’s family’s tradition: tangerines, dried fruit and nuts, chocolate, even very small bottles of alcohol at the bottom. Sara, who had clearly not expected a stocking, laughed as she pulled a miniature bottle of Gray Goose vodka out of hers. Neal ignored his headache and queasiness long enough to eat one of the dark chocolate salted caramels El had tucked into his, before he went back to sipping at his tea and waiting - somewhat nervously - for El to start handing out the presents under the tree. 

It had been a long time since Neal had chosen a Christmas present for a lover. He’d exchanged presents with El and Peter for several years now, but this year had felt so much more significant. He’d spent weeks wondering what to get them, and then, once they were taken care of, trying to figure out what to get Sara. He hadn’t wanted to presume anything, and the trip to Paris itself was supposed to be in the way of a gift, but he had wanted to have something to give her on Christmas Day. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. Sara was delighted by the delicate gold wristwatch, and she laughed at the miniature replica of the Raphael painting that had brought him to her attention. He’d built a wood frame for it as well, and on the back, he’d written: 

_I’ve always thought of you as St. George in this painting. I love your strength, and your fortitude, and your persistence. But I’m glad not to be one of your dragons anymore._

_Yours,  
Neal_

“Strange that none of the legends of St. George and the dragon ever seem to end with St. George falling for the dragon,” she remarked dryly. 

“Well, you made the dragon work for it,” Neal replied, and pulled her closer to him. 

Her own gift to him was a scarf made of soft, deep blue cashmere and a pair of leather gloves that were almost buttery in their texture. Nestled on top of them in the box was a tiny replica of the Eiffel Tower with a note attached to it. _We owe each other_ , was all it said. “Yes, we do,” he said aloud, and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. 

For Elizabeth, Neal had wanted to get something that Peter never would. He knew that El secretly - or perhaps not so secretly - loved it when he treated her like a princess, since Peter, for all his many good qualities, tended to run low on romantic gestures. In the end, he bought season tickets to the Met, which would give them not just one magical night out, but six. To accompany the certificate, he’d drawn a sort of collage of the date nights that he promised her: he in a tuxedo, she in her favorite blue dress, a sushi spread for two, two flutes of champagne, and the facade of the Met. 

She was clearly delighted, leaning across Sara to kiss him, but Neal couldn’t help keeping one eye on Peter. He’d only bought two tickets, knowing that dragging Peter to the opera more than once a year was akin to torture. Still, he and Elizabeth hadn’t spent much time alone together so far, and Neal had effectively scheduled time for the two of them without Peter. 

Peter caught his eye. “As long as I don’t have to go,” he said, “the two of you can go to the opera as often as you’d like.”

“Damn right we can,” Elizabeth said, and winked at Neal.

Elizabeth and Peter’s gift to him was by far the largest under the tree. Neal had already guessed by the size and shape of it that it was probably art of some kind, and he’d secretly hoped that El had been the one to pick it out. What he hadn’t expected was a huge canvas-wrapped photo of the three of them. He recalled instantly where and when they’d taken it: the last night of a late summer vacation upstate. They’d gone to dinner at a fancy lakeside restaurant; a sunset glowed in the background and the three of them glowed as well. 

“It’s beautiful,” Neal said, holding it out to try and take it in as a whole. “For the bedroom?”

He looked up just in time to see El and Peter exchange a glance. “Actually, we thought we’d hang it over the hearth,” Elizabeth said. 

Neal didn’t know what to say. Everyone would see it when they came in. Convention would prevent most people from ever recognizing the true nature of their relationship, but for El and Peter to have a photo of themselves with Neal hanging so prominently in their home - it was more recognition than Neal had truly ever hoped to have. It was also perhaps more of a risk than was wise, but if they were willing to take it, then he was, too. 

“Thank you,” he said, not bothering to cover up how much the gesture meant to him. He kissed Elizabeth, then got up to kiss Peter. When he settled on the sofa again, Elizabeth reached across the back, past Sara, to slide her fingers into his hair, scritching lightly at his scalp. 

Peter and Elizabeth’s gifts to each other were distinctly “married.” With some help from Neal on the decorative filigree, Peter had created an IOU certificate for a weekend away at the Rusty Egret, and he’d also bought her a set of kitchen knives that she’d apparently been hinting at for months. Elizabeth had gotten Peter a leather jacket, beautiful but not so luxurious that he’d be uncomfortable wearing it. And socks. Neal raised his eyebrows, but Peter seemed pleased. 

“It’s a Christmas tradition,” he explained. “I think she’s given me a packet of socks every year we’ve been married. And always the same kind, too, to help with matching.”

“I see,” Neal said, though he wasn’t sure he did. Neither did Sara, by the look on her face. _Socks_. It was possible he would never be quite that domesticated. 

He and Peter did have their own tradition, though. Every year for the last three, Neal had given Peter a tie, something elegant and expensive. His not-so-secret hope was that eventually these ties might replace all the cheap, boring, and frankly ugly ties in Peter’s wardrobe. Peter was a handsome man, and he had a powerful presence. His ties just didn’t do him justice. 

The only problem was that Peter never seemed to _wear_ the ties that Neal gave him, even though as ASAC he had plenty of meetings with higher ups they would have been perfect for. But this year, Neal had a secret weapon: he’d consulted Elizabeth. To his dismay, she’d steered him away from hand-dyed silk, declaring it “too unique” for Peter’s taste. “Peter likes patterns,” she’d told him, and Neal had rolled his eyes. Of course he did. 

Fortunately, he’d been able to find something even he liked in the Brooks Brothers tie collection: Italian silk, printed in a dark gray and navy plaid. It was still elegant, but it was also much more understated than the ties he’d given Peter in the past - and, Neal had to admit, much more _Peter._

Now, Neal watched with not a little nervousness as Peter opened the slim box. Peter himself looked wary, as though he were expecting yet another tie he’d have to pretend to like. But his face changed when he saw the tie itself, nestled beneath the tissue paper. “Oh,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. 

“Do you like it?” Neal asked. “I thought it would go well with your dark gray suit.” The one that, coincidentally, he’d helped Peter buy. It actually fit him, unlike some of his others. 

“I do like it,” Peter said, and looked up to catch his eye. “I love it, actually. Thank you, Neal.”

Neal couldn’t help pushing his luck a little further. “Does that mean I get to choose a tie for it to replace?”

“No,” Peter said, flatly. Neal subsided, smiling despite his headache. 

Neal had cased the gifts under the tree the night before, after everyone else had gone upstairs, so he knew that Sara had presents from Peter and Elizabeth. But it seemed that she hadn’t done the same. Her eyes widened when Elizabeth handed her a brightly wrapped package and said, “This is from me and Peter.”

“When did you possibly have time?” Sara asked, which was the question that Neal had also asked himself. Between throwing together a last minute Christmas, attempting to coordinate a foursome, and buying presents for unexpected guests, El had been _busy._

“You found time,” El pointed out, which was true. She’d just opened a bottle of expensive French perfume from Sara, and Peter a bottle of very good Scotch. Neal suspected that they had been purchased in a rush - possibly in Heathrow Airport, given how fast Sara had gotten here - but that didn't make them less thoughtful. 

“Yes, but . . .” Sara shook her head. Then she opened the gift and gasped. 

It was a glass ornament, probably hand-blown, delicate and abstract. She held it up against the firelight and the blue and white colors shimmered across the floor. Neal frowned. It was beautiful - and also vaguely familiar. “It’s gorgeous,” Sara said. “Where did you get it?” 

“It was my grandmother’s,” Elizabeth said.

Sara looked at her sharply. “Elizabeth. I couldn’t possibly.”

“Yes, you could,” El said, catching and holding Sara’s eye. “Though I would like to have it back to hang every other year or so,” she added with a shrug, “but that just means we’ll have to do this again.”

Sara swallowed as she replaced the ornament in its box. “I see. Yes, I think I could do that. Thank you, Elizabeth. Really.” 

Neal could tell she was overwhelmed, and there was no way for him to tell her here, now, that sometimes the Burkes just did that without meaning to. They didn’t realize what amazing people they were, or how special their marriage was; for them, this was just how things were. They didn’t realize that not everyone had beautiful, heirloom ornaments from their grandmothers or the generosity to give them away. But he couldn’t say anything, so he settled for capturing Sara’s hand and pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist.

By the time they were done with gifts, it was nearly noon. The Advil Neal had taken had long since worn off, if it had ever done anything to begin with. No one was buying his claim that it was just a mild headache. Neal decided it was the better part of valor to capitulate when El told him to take a Vicodin and lie down on the sofa while they fixed brunch.

He could just about see the three of them in the kitchen from the living room sofa, but better yet was the quiet murmur of their voices, barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the quiet wuffling of Satchmo with his new rawhide bone. The three of them laughed, and rather than making him feel lonely or excluded, it just made him feel lucky. And that was a little terrifying, because knowing how lucky he was made him conscious of how easily things might go wrong. 

But it was Christmas morning, and there was nowhere else in the world Neal would rather be. Worrying about the future was for another day. He fell asleep content. 

***

Sara stretched her arm out to snag her mimosa glass from the coffee table, trying not to disturb Neal. Peter and Elizabeth had both gone upstairs to call their respective families after they’d finished eating, and for the moment it was just the two of them. Full from brunch and just a little tipsy, she thought she could happily spend the rest of the day stretched out on the sofa with Neal, even if he was groggy and grumpy from his headache and the painkillers he’d taken to try and get rid of it. 

She rubbed the back of his neck, feeling an unusual swell of tenderness within her. She blinked, a little disconcerted. She’d never felt like this toward Neal _before_. 

Or maybe she just hadn’t let herself. She also hadn’t been able to imagine a future with Neal before. And now, even though the odds should be stacked against them, she felt like she could. It would probably be unconventional and strange and occasionally discomfiting, but she was willing to bet everything that it would also be amazing. 

“You okay?” Neal murmured after a few minutes. 

“Yes,” she said, still rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m fine.”

“Not crushing you?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” Neal snuggled - that was the only word that Sara had for it - closer. “I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbled, the words muffled against Sara’s neck. 

Sara smiled. “Me too, Caffrey.”

Sara had nearly dozed off when footsteps on the stairs - _Peter_ , she thought, by the weight of the tread - woke her. Twenty-four hours ago, she would have tried to cover up the fact that she and Neal were snuggling on the sofa, and even now her first instinct was to sit up, pretend that what Peter had almost definitely already seen hadn’t actually happened at all. But she controlled it. For one thing, it would have disturbed Neal, when he seemed to have finally fallen asleep, and for another - well, she just didn’t think Peter would care as much as he would have twenty-four hours ago.

She couldn’t see him on the stairs, but he must have been able to see them. He stood in the threshold to the living room, watching them. Sara couldn’t read his expression, but after a few seconds he caught her eye. “Hot chocolate?” he asked, quietly. 

“Sure,” Sara said, and carefully eased herself out from beneath Neal. He mumbled a sleepy protest, but otherwise didn’t stir. She tucked the crocheted throw from the back of the couch over him and followed Peter into the kitchen.

“How’s your family?” she asked as she leaned against the kitchen island, watching him prepare two mugs of hot chocolate. 

“Doing well,” Peter said. “It sounded like a madhouse. I think I talked to ten people in twenty minutes. I miss them, but staying here was definitely the right decision with my ribs and Neal’s head. Whipped cream?”

“No, thanks,” Sara said, accepting her mug from Peter. She blew across the surface and then sipped at it, experimentally. Peter had dusted the top of the hot chocolate with cinnamon, and it tasted just the slightest bit spicy. “This is delicious, thank you. Should we make one for Elizabeth?”

Peter shook his head. “She’s talking to her mom. We won’t see her for at least an hour.”

“Ah,” Sara said, and suppressed a sudden and unexpected pang of jealousy. Even when her mother had been alive, Sara hadn’t had that sort of relationship with her. Her phone calls home in college had been short and perfunctory. 

Silence fell between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but Sara had the distinct impression that there was something Peter wanted to say. He even seemed to start a couple of times, but then he changed his mind and his face behind his mug of hot chocolate. 

The fourth time it happened, Sara gave a mental roll of the eyes and said, “Peter, whatever it is, just say it.”

Peter winced. “Sorry. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

“So I gathered,” Sara said wryly. 

Peter cleared his throat. “Elizabeth mentioned that you and Neal were thinking about going away for a bit next week. Since you didn’t get your romantic getaway in Paris.”

“We’ve talked about it,” Sara said, raising her eyebrows. “But we don’t have any real plans, and it might be too late to book a room, since so many people have the week off. And I’m not sure Neal’s really up for it anyway.”

“Maybe not tomorrow,” Peter said, “but I was thinking . . . I actually made a phone call just now, to the place in Vermont El and I always go, the Rusty Egret. They’ve had a couple cancellations over New Year’s.” 

“Oh,” she said, a little taken aback. And then the greater significance of what he’d said caught up with her. “A _couple_ of cancellations?”

Peter nodded. “I know you and Neal might want some time together, but I thought perhaps the two of you could go up a few days early, and El and I might join you for New Year’s.” Peter looked down at his mug of hot chocolate. Sara stayed quiet, sensing he wasn’t quite done. He looked up at her again. “I’d like to get to know you, Sara. Differently than I do.”

“Oh,” Sara said again, quietly. She said nothing more for a minute or two, considering Peter’s suggestion. In all honesty, she probably would’ve never considered a B&B called the Rusty Egret under most other circumstances. When she’d imagined going away with Neal for a few days, she’d thought more along the lines of a fancy hotel suite in Manhattan, with room service and a view of Central Park. She supposed they could still do that, though, before heading up to Vermont with El and Peter. 

It was an extremely kind offer, and not entirely expected after the night before. Peter was willing to try, it seemed. In that case, so was she. 

“I’d like that too,” she said at last. “To get to know you, I mean.”

“Not that - I mean, it’s not a - a _proposition_ of any kind,” Peter said, ears going a bit red. “But my wife is rarely wrong about these sorts of things, and I thought - well.”

“I understand, Peter,” Sara said. “I’d like to get to know you differently, too. I think that’s good enough for now.”

“Good,” Peter said, clearly relieved. “Yes, good. Thank you.”

“No,” she said, startling them both. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “No, thank you, really. You could have stopped all of this with a word. I know you think you’re holding us back, or that you’re not as adventurous as El and Neal, but that isn’t true. If this ends up working, however this ends up working, it’ll be because you were willing to try even when it made you uncomfortable, and I know how hard that is.”

She could have left it at that, but it didn’t seem like enough. She set her mug down and stepped forward to hug him. He seemed shocked at first, going stiff in her arms even though he’d hugged her just that morning. But Sara persisted, and after a second or two his arms came up and he hugged her back. 

She kissed him on the cheek and then stepped back. “I’ll talk to Neal,” she said, before the silence could get awkward. 

“And I’ll talk to El,” he said. “But I’m sure they’ll both be up for it.”

Sara imagined they would be. “Well, then. New Year’s in Vermont.”

“It’s a date,” Peter said, and immediately looked horrified. 

Sara had to laugh. “It’s a date,” she agreed, and took her hot chocolate to go check on Neal before either of them could embarrass themselves further. 

Neal was still sleeping. Sara pulled the blanket up so that it covered him to his chin and then stood looking at the Burkes’ Christmas tree. The ornament El had given her hung in pride of place, right at eye level, beautiful and gleaming in the light from the fire and the tiny tree lights. 

She thought then about the visit she and Neal were meant to have had in Paris: Parisian Christmas markets, romantic dinners in tiny bistros, making love in a room with a view of the Arc de Triomphe, Christmas Eve services in Notre Dame. It would have been beautiful and romantic, and Sara was certain she’d have loved it. But she also wouldn’t have known what she was missing out on. Knowing what she did now, she found that any disappointment she might have felt about the trip had dissipated. She couldn’t exactly be glad about Neal’s head injury, but she found it hard to be sorry about ending up here. 

It was Christmas Day, and the year was about to turn. Sara didn’t want to jinx anything by saying it aloud, but she thought that she was about to have the happiest New Year's she’d had in a very long time.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Kanarek13 for that beautiful piece of art, which she somehow managed to make without reading the story first. White Collar fandom is lucky to have your talent!


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